Dark Tides Thrillers Box Set

by Tony Hutchinson

  Linda glared some more and sat down.

  ‘Probably best if we get this done now, don’t you think?’ Sam made the extra push.

  Linda told them how she had met John Elgin at a council meeting about travellers - a part of her life she had run away from years ago but still cared about.

  ‘What about the kiss?’ Ed asked her.

  ‘What bloody kiss?’

  Ed was like a schoolmaster trying to stay patient with a mouthy pupil.

  Sam stepped in. ‘Linda this will get tiring if you answer our questions with another question. The one in the park.’

  When the questions moved to Julius, the sham the marriage had become was soon clear, Linda telling them how she found out what her husband really was soon after their youngest was born.

  ‘It was a total accident,’ she said. ‘I caught him watching some sick shit on the computer. Julius was never much into sex with me. That’s when I realised why. Not like Billy Skinner. Christ he was a three meal a day man. Julius just wanted children, wanted to complete the image.’

  But now he’s gone, all of this is yours, Ed was thinking.

  ‘From a caravan to this in one lifetime isn’t bad going,’ he told her. ‘So what was your relationship with John Elgin?’

  ‘There wasn’t one.’

  ‘Did he tell you anything about his family?’ Sam asked.

  ‘What, apart from his horrible wife?’ Linda shook her head. ‘He knew Julius had interfered with his grandson. How do you think that makes me feel? I’m glad he’s dead and I hope he rots in hell. My kids will grow up wondering what he was like but if he’d just been convicted not killed they would have known exactly what their father was.’

  Ed looked surprised: ‘So you were protecting the family name?’

  ‘I did nothing, protect or otherwise,’ Linda said, prickling. ‘I cuddled a distraught older man. Big deal.’

  ‘Who took the photograph?’

  Linda looked wary. ‘A friend.’

  ‘Recommended by Ray Reynolds?’

  Linda shrugged. ‘You’re not the only copper with ex-tarts on the payroll.’

  Ed and Sam stood.

  ‘We’ll be in touch Linda,’ Ed said. ‘Lovely to bump into you again.’

  The door wasn’t slammed behind them as they left but Linda did give them a send-off.

  ‘Go fuck yourself.’

  Chapter Forty

  ‘Where’s Mat? He should be here.’

  Marge Skinner was sitting at the kitchen table, a pot of stewed tea in the middle, milk in two mugs.

  The metal ashtray, taken from one of their pubs, was overflowing, the bottle of gin waiting for its neck to be tilted one last time.

  Luke and Mark were leaning against the kitchen bench; the two bodyguards Luke insisted on staying at the house were busy checking the grounds.

  ‘He knows about dad,’ Luke said. ‘I told him.’

  ‘But where is he? He’s the oldest. He should be here.’

  Marge looked like an artist had used a scalpel to dig crevices down her cheeks and around her mouth and then drawn deep, black shadows under her eyes.

  She filled the tumbler then lay the bottle on its side.

  ‘You want to go steady mum,’ Luke said. ‘It’s way too early for that.’

  ‘What for?’ Marge took a hit from the gin. ‘Your dad’s gone. What’s left for me? Nothing.’

  She swallowed another huge mouthful, coughed and spluttered. ‘We don’t even know who’s behind it?

  ‘Yes we do,’ Luke said.

  Marge looked up from the glass. ‘Who?’

  ‘Harry Pullman.’

  Marge looked stunned.

  ‘I don’t believe it!’ putting the glass down hard on the table, her voice shaking. ‘Harry’s been with your dad...’

  Marge wiped her eyes while her sons waited.

  When she spoke again her voice was filled with certainty.

  ‘Harry Pullman’s been involved with this family for years,’ she said. ‘Since your dad started out. Why would he turn on him now?’

  Marge clenched her fists, the veins in her wrists standing to attention against her fake tan.

  ‘He admitted it mum.’

  Marge’s eyes locked on Luke’s. ‘You’ve spoken to him?’

  ‘Yes,’ Luke told her. ‘That nephew of his and McFadden as well.’

  Marge picked up the glass and swallowed gin.

  ‘I never liked that McFadden,’ she spat out the name. ‘Was he involved?’

  ‘They all were.’

  ‘I hope he suffered Luke, like I asked.’

  ‘Trust me mum it’s sorted,’ Luke said. ‘They were all plotting to take over: Stuart, Harry and his nephew Dean Silvers. Take out dad, take us all out. Here, let me put some tonic in that.’

  He walked to the fridge, took a glass bottle of Schweppes, and found a straw in the drawer next to the bottle opener.

  Marge nodded her thanks and lit another cigarette.

  ‘I still can’t believe it about Harry…where are they now?’

  ‘Taken care of,’ Luke said. ‘There’s nothing for you to worry about.’

  Marge stirred her drink with the black straw. ‘What if there are others?’

  ‘Then we’ll deal with it. But for now, it’s sorted.’

  ‘Mark, you do what Luke says,’ Marge turned to her middle son. ‘I know he’s the youngest...’

  ‘It’s okay mum. I know. Luke was always going to be the boss.’

  ‘Well until Mat returns,’ Marge told them.

  Luke threw a glance at Mark and walked over to his mother, putting a gentle hand on her shoulder.

  ‘Mat’s not coming back.’

  ‘What!’ She pushed herself out of the chair, gin spilling from the glass still in her hand. ‘What do you mean, not coming back?’

  ‘Not like that,’ Luke reached out for the glass and Marge handed it over, watched him put it back on the table. ‘Mat’s fine. Stop panicking. Sit back down.’

  Marge sat.

  Luke knelt down, took hold of her hand.

  ‘Dad never wanted Mat to run the business when he retired,’ he said. ‘He must have told you that.’

  Marge stared at the floor and nodded.

  ‘Mat knew that as well,’ Luke went on. ‘He doesn’t want to hang around with dad gone. He texted me to say he was getting on a flight.’

  Marge looked up. ‘Where?’

  ‘Him and Geoff are going to Spain to start again,’ Luke said. ‘Live the life. Mat wants a new start and who can blame him?

  Luke knew exactly which of Marge’s buttons to press.

  ‘He takes so much shit about what he is,’ Luke said. ‘He just wants to go somewhere where nobody’s bothered, somewhere him and Geoff can be themselves.’

  Maybe it was relief, maybe it was the gin, but Marge didn’t spot the holes in the story, Luke was happy to see.

  She didn’t even ask why Mat had never said goodbye.

  ‘It’s always been tough, bless him,’ Marge said. ‘Even your dad gave him a hard time about it, but as I used to say to your father, that’s the way he is. What are you going to do? Disown him? And Geoff is such a canny lad.’

  She sipped her drink through the straw. ‘When will he be in touch?’

  Luke told her Mat planned to leave it for a while, let all this settle down.

  ‘They’ve got plenty of Euros and we can get more to them if they need it,’ Luke said. ‘All you need to know is that him and Geoff are fine. Me and Mark will sort everything else out.’

  She pulled him into her, kissed his head.

  ‘You’re a good boy. What do you want me to tell the police when they come round?’

  Luke stood up.

  ‘Tell them we want them to catch whoever killed dad,’ Luke said. ‘A businessman kidnapped off the street in broad daylight and then murdered. Tell them it’s not the wild west.’

  He walked to the sink, turned on the tap, and filled a glass with w
ater.

  ‘Tell them that we don’t know who could have done it or why,’ Luke took a long drink. ‘If they ask you about McFadden or Harry Pullman admit knowing who they are, but say you have no idea where they might be.’

  Luke drained the glass.

  ‘If they push it just say you never involved yourself in the business.’

  Mark, still leaning against the bench, unpeeled a banana.

  ‘What if it wasn’t them? What if it’s someone else?’

  ‘I thought you said they admitted it?’ Marge stared at Luke, waiting for a response. ‘Well did they or didn’t they?’

  Luke had always been patient with his brother but there were times...

  ‘What Mark means is anybody could have a pop at us now, so we have to be careful,’ he said. ‘Don’t go into town without taking at least one of those lads outside with you.’

  Marge nodded.

  Mark knew better than to speak again, at least not until they were both outside.

  He waited until they were standing by the bonnet of the car.

  ‘What if it wasn’t Harry and Stuart?’ Mark said now. ‘Have you thought of that? I know I’m supposed to be the thick one, but what if someone just wants us to think it was them?’

  Luke moved towards the driver’s door.

  ‘It was them all right and remember you’re not paid to think. You’re paid to do what you’re told. We need to make sure all the pubs are working properly.’

  He got into the car and was talking before Mark closed his door.

  ‘We need to send a strong message. We don’t want dad’s death giving anybody ideas about skimming or trying to take over. We need to put someone in Scaramangers and then see John Elgin, see how he’s doing with the planning.’

  ‘What did you think of her then?’ Sam asked.

  They were pulling away from Linda Pritchard’s, Ed driving.

  ‘She would still have known enough in the travelling community to have her husband sorted out,’ Ed said. ‘Skinner dumped her when she’d served her uses but the travellers wouldn’t be frightened to take on Billy Skinner. That might explain why Carol Pender said nobody knew anything.’

  Ed fell silent, thought processes turning like the car wheels. They were still turning when the wheels stopped at HQ.

  Sam opened her door and broke the silence. ‘I’ve decided I’m going to book myself on a sailing trip.’

  ‘What?’ Ed taken by surprise. ‘Good, that’s great. So you should.’

  Doors shut, Ed walked around the front of the car.

  Bang!

  He smashed his palm against the bonnet. ‘Shit!’

  ’What the hell?’ Sam gasped, heart racing.

  ‘I want to watch the tapes again,’ Ed said. ‘Pritchard’s abduction and his trip around the football place with his new mate. I want to watch the mate again. It’s that walk. I think I’ve remembered who it reminds me of.’

  Sam said they could kill two birds with one stone.

  ‘Thanks to Bev we’ve got the CCTV from the car spares shop,’ Sam told him. ‘She’s in the crew room.’

  Sam entered the building first, Ed following as they climbed the stairs.

  ‘And by the way,’ Sam said. ‘They’re on a laptop. All been transferred across to make easier viewing.’

  Not even Ed missed the days of rewinding and fast forwarding tapes.

  They reached the second floor.

  Bev was sitting behind one of the eight desks in the large office that the detectives who weren’t involved in the HOLMES Room functions worked from.

  ‘Morning Bev,’ Sam said. ‘What have we got then?’

  There was nobody else in the office; everybody already out and about.

  ‘Not a lot,’ Bev said. ‘Guy goes into the shop, buys the headlight. It’s the only one sold on Saturday anywhere for miles. The quality of the CCTV is good; the chances of identifying the buyer are not.’

  ‘Why?’ Ed asked, moving behind Bev so he could see the screen.

  ‘Keeps his head down, keeps his baseball cap low.’ Bev said.

  Bev tapped one of the keys. The inside of the shop came into view. Bev was right; the quality was TV-like.

  ‘Here he comes,’ Bev said, touching the screen to point him out.

  Sam and Ed watched him walk into the shop, head bowed, black baseball cap pulled low and join the queue. After the three men in front were served, he propped himself against the counter.

  He never looked up.

  After a short conversation, the salesman walked away, presumably to the stores, and returned soon after carrying a cardboard box. The man in the baseball cap nodded, handed over a note, took his change and walked out past the people who had formed a new queue behind him.

  ‘Would the storeman recognise him again?’ Ed asked, standing up straight.

  ‘He doesn’t think so,’ Bev said, without looking away from the screen. ‘You saw how busy it was the few minutes our man was in. It was like that all morning apparently. Always is on a Saturday.’

  ‘Blue jacket, dark brown trousers, and white trainers.’ Sam said. ‘Not exactly distinctive.’

  Ed asked Bev to zoom in on the man’s feet.

  Ed moved closer to the screen. ‘Thought so. Stan Smith trainers. Re-released this year. They’re more of a fashion statement now for the young and trendy but chummy there doesn’t walk like a young gun. More likely to have worn them years ago and fancied going retro.’

  Ed asked Bev to play the footage from the Shots And Saves complex.

  She minimised the film they’d just watched and keyed up another.

  Ed leaned forward, peering at the screen. ‘Same cap, same clothes, same trainers.’

  Same walk?

  ‘Play it again Bev,’ Ed said. ‘Watch how he walks in comparison to the guy who bought the headlight.’

  Ed walked to the window and rested his back on the windowsill while Sam and Bev studied the screen.

  ‘See how he seems to bounce on his heels?’ Ed asked them.

  Sam and Bev nodded.

  ‘But more importantly,’ Ed continued, ‘it’s the way his arms hang loose by his sides with the palms facing backwards. Now play the one of him walking with Pritchard before the abduction.’

  Ed remained by the window. He’d seen everything he needed.

  ‘You’re right,’ Sam said, concentrating on the screen. ‘Same walk, same cap, same clothes and as we’ve said before, it’s as if he’s surveillance trained.’

  Ed rejoined them at the laptop, the last image still frozen.

  ‘That walk’s pretty unique,’ he said. ‘Not enough for identification granted but I knew a cop who walked like that. I just need to pop out. I’ll bring you up to speed when I get back.’

  ‘Before you go,’ Sam asked. ‘The cop you’re talking about. Surveillance trained?’

  ‘And then some,’ Ed said. ‘One of the best DCs in Hampshire. Undercover specialism...’

  He paused for effect. Sam and Bev stared, waiting.

  ‘Infiltrating paedophile rings.’

  Chapter Forty-One

  John Elgin trudged through the streets, hands in pockets and head down, eyes hiding under the peak of his Harris Tweed Gold Barleycorn Baker Boy hat. He needed to speak with Harry Pullman, see if there was any progress on the tape.

  He scanned the car park. Harry’s car was there. The 4x4 and BMW from yesterday were not.

  The pub doors were open.

  Elgin quickened his step and took off his cap as he stepped over the threshold.

  He’d never seen the barman before: thick neck, thick arms, hands like shovels, polished head, no more than twenty five, wearing a white tailored shirt and black trousers.

  Definitely more at home in front of the door than behind the bar.

  ‘Pint of Peroni please.’

  Not even a grunt in response.

  Elgin put the five pound note in the barman’s hand. It looked like a postage stamp.

  ‘Where’s
Harry?’

  ‘Left,’ the barman said, bending down to rearrange some glasses on the bottom shelf, like a circus contortionist in the space made tight by his bulk.

  ‘What, for an hour or two?’ Elgin asked. ‘When’s he due back?’

  The barman stood up and leaned across the bar on his huge arms. ‘Left as in packed in.’

  Elgin stopped dead with the Peroni still six inches short of his lips.

  ‘You’re kidding,’ nonplussed, disbelieving. ‘When did all this happen?’

  The barman turned and fiddled with the optics. ‘You auditioning me for Mastermind? How the fuck do I know?’

  He spun on his heels, surprisingly deft for a big man.

  ‘They needed a new manager, rang me and hey-presto, here I am.’

  He stretched his hand towards Elgin. ‘Jason Tonks.’

  Elgin’s hand was enveloped in a bear’s paw with a vice-like grip.

  ‘Now, I’m here to serve, you’re here to drink. I’m not here to answer questions.’

  ‘Well you can answer mine.’ Ray Reynolds walked to the bar wearing a pair of bright yellow golfing trousers.

  Jason Tonks looked him up and down: ‘You’re either wearing those as a joke or you’ve just finished your Ronald McDonald shift and forgot to change. Jesus.’

  Reynolds turned to Elgin. ‘Alright John. Who’s the comedian?’

  Elgin looked at the barman. ‘Jason Tonks meet Detective Superintendent Ray Reynolds.’

  Tonks remained impassive.

  ‘Retired,’ Reynolds said. ‘I’ll have a pint of…’

  He walked along the bar looking at the hand-pulls. ‘Titanic Plum Porter.’

  He stared at the barman. ‘Let’s hope you last longer than the ship.’

  Reynolds smiled. The barman didn’t.

  ‘Don’t dish it out if you can’t take it young man. Now where’s Harry?’

  ‘Gone,’ Tonks told him. ‘Left.’

  ‘Gone where?’ Reynolds asked.

  Luke appeared from the cellar. ‘Warmer climes Mr Reynolds, warmer climes.’

  Luke walked to the punters’ side of the bar and sat on a bar stool. ‘Do me a mug of tea, Jason.’

  He looked up at Reynolds, one arm resting on the bar.