by Alan Wade
“What reasons?”
“Olu Deniz and a dead man.”
“Fuck Olu Deniz and a dead man, that was ages ago, it must be more than that.”
“You know it is love, you know they think I’m a terrorist and on that account they won’t let go. So we’ll have to live with it.”
“But it’s not bloody well fair, especially after all you’ve done for this country.”
“I’m just a number, I served, I got paid, that’s all there is to my past, no big deal really. Now I’m just an out-of-work guy on a terrorist list, which means they’ll never go away.”
“Bastards” she hissed, but smiled.
“Yes love,” he said still squeezing her hands, “now back to business, aren’t you supposed to be selling beer?”
“Yes OK, I’m sorry,” she said pulling her hands away and mocked, “I suppose sir wants a pint of his usual and a touch of the apron.”
“Prefer to touch what’s in the blouse.”
“Bugger off,” she said as she pulled away from his grasp, but the words were soft and her smile sent a different, warmer message.
The Brown Cow began to fill with early evening customers and with the smells of food, lager and beer as Jacky pulled Alan his second pint, placed it in front of him, took his money and returned the change, having taken one for herself.
He dropped the change on the bar, momentarily holding her hand and said, “Jacky, what did you tell them?”
She smiled at him and replied, “All I know, which is bugger all. Oh, but I did tell them that we’re more than an item and that we were going racing and perhaps on a cruise,” she looked at him with her head at a slight tilt and a smirk on her face, “is that all right sir?”
“That’s alright gorgeous,” he said as he grabbed for her hand, but she was faster; stepped back and gushed, “Will that be all for now Governor?”
“Two more pints I think love, plus a mild; I seem to have company,” retorted Alan.
John, Dave and Cyril shuffled past people at the bar each in turn muttering; “Sorry, excuse me, can I get by, thanks, thanks.” They finally reached the snug then all three took up bar stools and said good evening to Alan.
“Let’s get merry tonight eh lads?” joked Alan as Jacky plonked the beers down in front of them, took Alan’s money; then placed his change on the bar in front of him; she smiled at him and enquired, “Will that be all sir?”
“Where’s the peanuts,” groaned Dave.”
“Oh sorry Dave, I’ve not put them out yet.”
“Things are slipping here Jacky, been too busy canoodling with Alan I suppose to care about we mere customers,” teased Dave.
“I’ll get you some now my lord,” she quipped then curtseyed and ran into the kitchen, returning a few moments later with glasses of peanuts.
“See sir, they were already there, just waiting for the customers to ask.”
“Two pints over here Jacky please,” called someone from around the bar.
The square bar was filling with workers who wanted to quench their thirst before slowly chugging home in the rush hour. The noise of thirty different discussions, laughter and shouts for more beer would keep Jacky busy for the next two hours.
For three more hours copious pints of bitter and mild were consumed as the banter continued and nobody noticed in the Brown Cow or even at the police station as they listened, that Alan was slightly more reserved than usual.
At 9.00 pm he left the Brown Cow, sat in his waiting taxi, gave his address and pondered his visit to York in June. His meeting with Shan at the races would have to be carefully thought through because he knew both he and Jacky would be shadowed; that the Ivy would be bugged and that even at the races voice directional microphones could pick up his conversations. Did he actually need the meeting with Shan? Yes, he needed a contact, an address somewhere in the Middle East and a new identity and he needed it quite soon. He would have to risk meeting Shan again even though the meeting was now fraught with danger and all because of some fucking idiot with a mobile phone in Olu Deniz. The taxi pulled up outside his home, money was exchanged and he entered 78 Sandiway. He was asleep in 40 minutes and the listening station at the police HQ was turned off; however the one at 73 Sandiway remained, taping Alan’s sporadic snoring throughout the night.
June 10th,Yoxford, Suffolk, England.
Detective Inspector Metcalf drove down the main street of Yoxford, he passed the church on the right, then the Bloise Arms pub and stopped outside a small row of semi detached houses. Number 12 had already been cordoned off and at the front gate stood a constable; next door an old man was busy filling the stall in front of his garden with the day’s offerings of fresh grown beans and late potatoes. A serve yourself notice alongside a small tin, in which to place your money for the purchases gave some idea of the type of village which Yoxford still was. The old man watched as the inspector showed his identity card to the constable and asked for any background information which may help.
All the constable knew was that at 08.35 an emergency call had been received from a tearful woman to say her mother, father and grand mother were lying dead in the house.
Inspector Metcalf made his way down the path observing the neighbours houses as he walked; their curtains twitched and stilled and he supposed they had a right to their nosiness. Obviously nothing like this had happened in Yoxford for a very long time; if ever and in a small community like this they were bound to be interested in what had happened.
He was greeted at the front door by a short plump lady who introduced herself as Beryl, a friend of the family. She informed the inspector that Brenda Jarvis the daughter of the family, was in bed having been given a sedative by the doctor due to the state she was in and that whoever had done this terrible thing should be shot.
The Inspector thanked Beryl for her concern and help; then walked past her into the lounge. His first impression was one of piece and calm, the room was pleasantly decorated and contained the usual furniture including a TV in the corner, near the lounge window which looked out onto the front garden. Two easy chairs, a settee and a small table completed the setting; a mirror over the fireplace, two pictures of what he presumed would be family and various ornaments seemed to give an air of working class normality. The simple difference was that the room contained a doctor who was attending to one body while a police constable took photographs of a second body.
The constable acknowledged the inspectors presence with a nod toward the kitchen and said, “There’s another one in there sir, bloody mystery to me how they died. There hasn’t been any violence as far as I can see and it seems as if they were just going about there business and then dropped dead, I suppose quite normal when it’s only one person but three in the same place at the same time that’s weird.”
“Yeah that’s weird,” responded Metcalfe who turned to the doctor, “hello Doctor Miller what have you got for me.”
“Not a lot really, they’re all obviously dead, no external wounds, no obvious signs of poisoning or asphyxiation, it seems that at one moment they were living a normal life and then they all died in a very short space of time.”
The Inspector nodded and enquired, “When will you be able to give me more information.”
“If it’s OK with you I’ve asked for the removal of all three bodies to the morgue and we will be able to give you a clearer picture after the autopsies, in about four days.”
“Thanks doc, keep in touch.”
Metcalfe turned to Constable Wardle and demanded, “Tell me all you know.”
The constable confirmed two police officers had attended the scene after an emergency call had been received at 08.35. At the scene they had found a very distraught woman and three dead bodies; the woman was the daughter of two of the victims and the grand daughter of the third; she had come round this morning to take them all to Norwich shopping. This w
as something she did every week as they had no transport and the bus service in Yoxford wasn’t very good. When she got no answer from ringing the front door bell she used her own key to let herself in and found them all as you see them now. She says she touched nothing nor moved anything and just called the police then ran next door to Beryl’s house because she didn’t know what else to do. The two police officers immediately called for back-up and the house was sealed off as a crime scene; both constables are still here, one at the rear and one at the front of the house.
Wardle had arrived at the same time as the doctor to find Brenda Jarvis very distressed and being tended to by her neighbour Beryl a rather fussy, but helpful woman. Brenda was so upset the doctor gave her a sedative and told her to rest. There was little else to say, there was no sign of a break in, no sign of violence or a struggle and Beryl who lived in the adjoining semi, had heard nothing unusual. Wardle knew Beryl and had the impression she would know if anything was out of the ordinary in Yoxford. This was a typical day in Yoxford except that three people were dead. The only noise Beryl heard all evening was from number six who were celebrating the birth of their son but even this was over very soon. There had also been a celebration and firework display a couple of days ago for John, a neighbour who was sixty, but that was all.
The Inspector thanked Wardle and surveyed the ground floor of the house; everything seemed normal as already observed and to his trained eye it seemed as if all three had died from natural causes. He phoned in his preliminary report and stated he would remain on the scene to interview the daughter when she awoke from the sedative.
Brenda Jarvis was a tall slim lady, perhaps too slim for his liking, with straight black hair and a pinched puffy complexioned faced. Her whole body seemed to be shaking and tear lines etched her face, it was obvious she had been and still was traumatised by what she had found.
Metcalf found no further clues from his short interview with her; her parents were normal every day folk, they were reasonably fit for their age, were in good health and enjoyed gardening. In fact she had spoken to them only the night before and they sounded happy. Their only problem seemed to be that they were all suffering from a cold and grandmother also had a bad chest, and although this had been going on for a couple of days, they had taken some paracetamol and felt a little better. They were looking forward to seeing her the next day and would give her some fresh potatoes they had just dug from their garden; grandmother was staying with them and would be coming shopping too.
The Inspector helped Brenda as much as he could and phoned the doctor before leaving to ask for him to visit her later that day. He also assured her the two policemen would stay at the scene and be relieved by others to ensure her safety and privacy. He left the house at 12.35 to file his report, which would say there was no evidence of foul play or forced entry. However the death of three people at the same address in a very short period of time had to be suspicious and he therefore requested that priority be given to the lab and post-mortem reports on the three bodies.
Two pints of bitter, the dish of the day, which was gammon, egg and chips at the Bloise Arms and a trip to the post office offered no further help; these people were everyday average village.
Chapter 15
June 12th, 18.00, The Ivy Hotel, York.
Alan placed two suitcases on the wooden floor in front of reception and hit the bell on the desk after which a voice called out, “I’ll be just a minute.”
Alan responded, “Fast as you can, you old sod,” and smiled at Jacky. He took her hands in his and looked into her face, “I think we should have a rest in our room before dinner, love.”
She smiled back, looking into his soft blue eyes, “Are you sure you want a rest?”
He chuckled back, “Well, perhaps not just a rest,” as he squeezed her hands and pulled her close, directing one of her hands to his groin.
Her gaze never left his face, “I suppose I should use one of those quotes about you being pleased to see me darling?” she teased; but quickly pulled her hand away on hearing approaching footsteps.
“Hello my old friend,” said Alan as he turned his open palm toward Jacky, “this is Jacky, my latest squeeze.”
Tony took her hand and said, “Hello love, what’s a nice girl like you etcetera, etcetera,” he smiled at her and concluded, “I’m sure you’ve heard it all before.”
She smiled back, nodding her head and squeezing his hand, “Something similar Tony.”
Tony turned and took a key from one of the hooks behind reception, “Your usual room sir, and a couple of drinks on the house before you go up.”
Jacky laughed out loud, “I don’t know if he can wait that long Tony.”
“Jacky,” scorned Alan, “Tony doesn’t want to know that, good grief, you’ve only just met the man,” he then turned to Tony and said, “Yes, we will have a couple of drinks with you my old friend.”
“Not too many though,” she mocked as she sat down at a table, “you know all the problems you have down there after too much booze.”
Alan laughed back, “Why don’t you tell him my life story while you’re at it?”
“Spare me the detail love, I think I already know most of his life story; now, what would you both like to drink?”
“Beer for me and a half of lager for Jacky,” replied Alan as he sat next to her and watched Tony dispense the drinks.
Two rounds later it had been agreed they would all dine together at eight then take an early bedtime in order to be refreshed for the two days racing ahead. As all three stood up Alan motioned to Tony to go into the garden at the rear of the hotel. He took eight or nine paces from the back door, stopped and took in his surroundings, as Tony padded up to him.
“What’s going on?” enquired Tony.
“Those visits you’ve had from the plod, I’m fairly sure they will have wired the place. Have you had any visits recently from telecoms people or electrical engineers?”
“Yes actually, a couple of weeks ago BT called to check the cabling into the hotel.”
“Sounds par for the course, I think you’re wired for sound.”
Tony turned to face a row of thorn trees marking the border of his rear garden and whispered, “You must be seriously worrying these people if they go to these lengths to check on you.”
“It’s a game, it’s only a game.”
“Well the stakes must be bloody high, but that’s your business.”
“Yes it is my business, but I think they will be interested in what you have to say.”
“They can ask all they want, I’ve nothing to say; you’re just a friend, here with some bird for a few days racing and nooky.”
Alan smiled, “With a bit of luck I’ll win on both counts. Now, when we go back in don’t say anything, but change my room to one at the back; just give me the key; we’ll go up and see you down here at eight.”
Alan opened the bedroom door and waved Jacky in first.
“Here you are darling, our little love nest for the next few days.”
He threw the suitcases on the bed and set about searching the room. She unpacked the suitcases and went to the bathroom, emerging twenty minutes later with her hair pulled high in a bun revealing the slim lines of her neck. She wore just sufficient make up to enhance her large blue eyes and full lips and had changed into matching light blue lingerie of, bra, panties and suspenders which held up matching light blue stockings; her high heeled shoes enhancing the slimness of her thighs and buttocks. She stood at the end of the bed and pouted, “I thought I’d wear these tomorrow at the races, what do you think?”
He turned from inspecting the TV remote controller and gasped, “Oh my goodness, you look absolutely fabulous.” He walked up to her and took her gently in his arms, kissing her bare shoulder then whispered in her ear, “But I don’t think you should wear that for the races my love, you don’t want to frighten the
horses now, do you?”
“What do you mean, frighten the horses?” she growled.
“Well; if a gust of wind were to raise your skirt and jockeys and horses got a glimpse of this, there’s no telling what they might do,” he teased.
By now he had unhooked her bra which fell to the floor off her left arm, his mouth and tongue found hers and his hands caressed her breasts erecting her nipples. She pulled her lips away and looked into his eyes, “Please, make love to me slowly, and first with your tongue.”
He smiled back at her, pushing his tongue out and moving it slowly around his lips. He lifted her onto the bed, knelt down on the floor and whispered, “I hope you will reciprocate.”
“Oh yes love,” she moaned.
On a quiet road behind the Ivy hotel a man in a white transit van adjusted the crotch of his trousers and murmured, “Lucky bastard.”
June 13th, The Knavesmire, York.
Jacky had chosen a black trouser suit, no hat, a matching black handbag and sensible black walking shoes. Alan wore a blue shirt, his lucky racing tie, cream slacks, brown brogues, a light brown jacket and brown trilby hat. Around his neck he wore a pair of light binoculars and he carried the Racing Post. The morning had been spent breakfasting and reading the form of the horses and now he intended to enjoy an afternoon’s racing combined with just a little work to be done to help him with his meeting on the 14th.
The Knavesmire is quite an expanse of land and on race days it is home to several thousand people, many of whom walk across its lush grass to the racecourse entrances. However, even with so many people about it was obvious to him that he and Jacky were being followed. He had not found any listening devices in his room the night before, but now thought there might be one in the fridge or the TV remote control. Tonight they would have to go, and if he was right then the dirty sods had listened to their love making. He chuckled loudly, thinking of that.
“What’s with the chuckling?” she enquired.