by J. E. Mayhew
Laura sighed and gave Will a sad smile. “No, Will. I came to see Serafina. And I told you, I’m doing things on my terms, looking after number one.”
“What are you…?”
“Just listen. We can be friends but I realise now that we could never be anything more. I’m giving you this information as a friend. Don’t waste your time and resources trying to link Pro-Vets and Kyle Quinlan; you’ll fail. I just came to tell you about Ufford.”
“We got that information already, thanks.”
“Then you’ll know that, whoever his accomplice is has transferred a whole load of cash from Ufford’s account into their own and they’re about to disappear.”
“You aren’t playing some kind of stupid, dangerous game with Quinlan are you, Laura? Because…”
“I’m not playing anything or anyone, Will. I can look after myself. What you need to do is forget Kyle for now and forget me. Catch whoever is about to do a flit with a huge chunk of Pro-Vets money.”
*****
The back room of the Seraph was even smaller than the bar area if that was possible. It was shadowy and only managed to contain an old leather sofa, a low table and a couple of stools. The bare floorboards creaked under Jeff’s feet as he walked in and he got a real sense of the pub’s antiquity. He imagined dark deeds and underhand deals had been arranged here for centuries. The idea of writing a history of the pub flashed through his mind, only to be crushed by McClague’s warning.
The woman cuddled up to Kyle Quinlan on the old leather sofa wasn’t Laura and must have been half Quinlan’s age. She wore a mask of make-up which Jeff found both attractive and confusing. Why would such a young girl plaster herself in slap when she didn’t need it? Jeff planted the pint on the low table in front of Quinlan. The big, dark-haired man untangled himself from the young woman and picked up the drink. From what Jeff could see, Kyle didn’t need another pint.
“Cheers, Jeff, you’re a real gent,” he said, his voice slurring. He turned to the woman. “This is Jeffrey Blake, Layla, he’s an author.”
“Wow,” Layla said, smoothing out her short, sequined dress. “What have you written?”
Jeff felt a blush warm his cheek. “I don’t think you’d have heard…”
“Go on Jeff, Layla’s got ‘A’ Levels and everything.”
“Quixote Junction?” Jeff said, hopefully. Layla looked blankly at him. “Cinnamon and Blue? It was a collection of short stories about people at a dinner party…”
“Ooh, hang on a minute. Yeah, was one of the stories called Crab Apples?”
Jeff blinked at her. “Yes. Yes it was…”
“Yeah, my English teacher was always going on about it. He bought me the book.”
“He bought my book as a present for you?”
“Yeah, he was a good teacher,” Layla said, giving Jeff a lipstick grin and stretching sinuously on the sofa. “I enjoyed it.” For a moment, Jeff was uncertain whether she meant his book or something else.
“See?” Quinlan said, grinning madly. Jeff wondered if he was under the influence of something stronger than drink.
Jeff smiled and nodded, not quite sure what point Quinlan was making. Was the man trying to take credit for Layla’s teacher giving her the book or the fact that Layla liked the book or what? “Great,” Jeff said instead of asking any questions. “So, you said you’d give me some background on Josh Gambles, Kyle…”
Quinlan leaned forward, almost knocking the pint over. “I’d prefer it if you called me Mr Quinlan. It’s just a matter of respect, Jeff. Hope you don’t mind. People round here see you getting all pally and they’ll start taking the piss.”
Jeff pulled out his notebook. “Okay, erm, Mr Quinlan. So do you mind if I make a few notes? It just helps me remember.”
“Fire away, Jeffrey, although, I’ll warn you now, Gambles was a bit of a pussy, to be honest. Always hanging on my coat tails. I can’t ever remember him pulling my fat out of the fire and he was always getting himself into scrapes.”
“I can imagine. He speaks very fondly of you, though. Almost hero worships you…”
Quinlan puffed his chest out and Layla giggled, hugging onto him. “Well, that’s understandable, I suppose,” he said, then his face darkened. “It won’t save him in the end though, you know, Jeff. If he spends too much time poking his nose into other people’s business, he’s goin’ to get it chopped off, isn’t he?”
“Really?”
“Do you know where my ex-wife is, Jeff?” Quinlan said, changing the subject completely.
“No.”
“At your brother’s house feeding him a load of bullshit about Pro-Vets. She’s a crafty one, that Laura,” he said, he looked down at Layla and gave her a squeeze. “I must have a thing about girls with names beginning with ‘L’ mustn’t I?”
Layla giggled again. “Stop it Kyle. You’ll make me jealous.”
“Do you think she still loves your brother, Jeff?”
Jeff felt his throat tighten. “I don’t know. Judging from her actions and what she said on the phone the other day, I’d say not. She’s got more sense.”
Quinlan threw his head back and laughed. “Nice one. Still. I’ve got to keep an eye on her. She’s just waiting for me to trip up, you know. She told me.”
“I don’t really know her that well but one thing I always thought was she’s single-minded and smart. What you said about her keeping you on your toes the other day, that certainly makes sense in a twisted kind of way.”
Quinlan nodded and tapped the side of his head. “You’re wise, Jeff. You’ve got nous. That brother of yours, he’s just a plod, really, isn’t he?”
“I suppose you could say that,” Jeff said, grinning briefly.
“He’s still soft on her, though, isn’t he?”
“None of us like rejection. I think he’ll make a point of getting over her. Can we get back to Josh Gambles, Mr Quinlan?” Jeff said, trying to keep the edge out of his voice.
“We can,” Quinlan slurred. “I reckon between you and me, we can make Joshy Gambles even more famous.”
“That’s a strange thing to say, Mr Quinlan,” Jeff said.
Quinlan just tapped the side of his nose. That was the moment that Jeff realised that Quinlan was a powder keg and it was only a matter of time before he exploded.
Chapter 40
Noel Roscoe was worried. He’d watched Terry through the night. They were going to go and find Nicola last night but Terry had fallen into a seizure. Noel wasn’t sure what to do and contemplated calling an ambulance but Terry had recovered and slept. He had a couple more seizures and managed to sleep a little. But when he came round he was muttering to himself and giving Noel sidelong glances. Noel didn’t understand it, the boy had taken his medication so surely he’d be feeling better. Not that Noel was an expert. He’d worked for a guy once who took happy pills and reckoned they took a few days to kick-in. He didn’t even seem very happy after that, to be honest. Maybe Terry’s tablets were the same.
By the time Terry had woken, it was late morning. Noel rustled up some bacon and eggs for them and he watched Terry wolf them down with nearly half a loaf of toast.
“So what d’you reckon, Terry, should we go and find this Nicola today? See what she suggests you do?”
Terry stopped chewing and stared at Noel for so long, he thought the young man wasn’t listening. “Yeah,” Terry said, finally. He glanced over at his phone which lay, fully charged on the side. “Maybe I’ll get some orders, too.”
Noel licked his lips. “Have you ever thought, Terry, that whoever gives you those orders might not have your best interests at heart?”
Again, Terry paused. “What do you mean?”
Noel squatted beside the big lad. “I mean, Terry, that they’re setting you up. Think about it. You get a call, it tells you to go somewhere and then you find yourself in trouble…”
“It’s always like that in the army,” Terry said, shrugging. “You get sent into danger…”
“Yeah, I can see that, mate, but this isn’t the army, is it? Looks to me like someone’s using you to cover their tracks.”
Terry looked hard at Noel. “Who are you?” he said, slowly. “Really…”
Noel felt a flurry of panic. He could never outrun Terry, not with his bad ankle. He felt like he was trapped in a small box with an increasingly edgy lion. “I’m Noel, Terry, remember? Noel. I picked you up on the road the other day. I’m just an old man, done a bit of time for burglary and such. Just trying to help you. Okay?”
“Okay,” Terry said, nodding. He rubbed his forehead. “I just wish I knew what to do. Who I could trust…”
“You can trust me, Terry. I think you’re a good lad who’s been treated badly, okay? I want to help you. I think we should find Nicola, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” Terry said, after a while. “Find Nicola. She’ll tell me what to do.”
*****
Even though it was early on a Saturday, the Major Incident Room lay almost deserted apart from Blake and his core team. Every hand possible had been drafted in to marshal and observe the horde of protesters headed towards the Wirral. The people of Liverpool had a history of containing and humiliating far-right groups who came to cause trouble. Only a few years ago, one group had to take refuge in the lost luggage kiosk in Lime Street station, such was their hostile reception. They’d jumped on the first train out once they were allowed.
But judging by social media, many people were coming to the area via Chester railway station. This meant that protestors only had to change platforms to join the Wirral Line rather than get kettled in the plaza as often happened at Lime Street. Some Cheshire Police Officers were keeping order in Chester but the bulk of the responsibility fell to Merseyside. Trains and stations were policed as was the route to the war memorial.
The first to arrive at the office after Blake had been DC Kinnear. He looked pale and sleep-deprived. “You okay, Andrew?” Blake asked.
“Yes, sir. Just a lot on my mind.”
Blake nodded and glanced around. The room was empty but he knew the others would be arriving any minute. “Jitters about the adoption?”
Kinnear gave Blake a guarded look. “Y-yes, sir, as a matter of fact,” he sighed and sat down, heavily. “I mean, I want to and the idea of having Niamh in our lives is just so great, sir but I’m just not sure it’s wise.”
“I see. And how does Chris see it?”
“He’s heart-broken but he understands, sir.”
Blake squatted beside Kinnear and took a breath. “Listen, son, when I was your age, I was married and had a little girl. Then she was taken from me. Those few fleeting months were the best time of my life. That sense of loss never goes it’s a weight I carry everyday but that brief time I had with my little girl, it was a treasure beyond value. If it’s this job that troubles you, then don’t worry. The world’s a dangerous place whatever you do. You make the best of it and you don’t let fear take your life away. Knowing what I know now, if I was in your shoes, I’d give little Niamh the best home and all the love I could and live.”
Kinnear blinked at Blake with glittering eyes. “Th-thank you sir.”
“Good,” Blake said, standing up and coughing gruffly. “The others should be here any minute. Here’s Kath now. Let’s get busy.”
Kath and Alex came in, followed closely by Vikki. “Morning, sir. Looks like there are plenty of people going to the rally, sir,” Kath said, dumping her bag on her desk. “It’s not like there’s even anything to protest about. I mean, Travis was killed by someone he knew. It’s a murder plain and simple.”
Blake shook his head. “That doesn’t matter now, does it? Even Superintendent Martin going on TV and explaining that it wasn’t a terrorist attack is dismissed as fake news or a mainstream media cover-up. It’s madness, Kath. Despite his son having admitted that he fed his dad that terrorist bullshit, I bet you Lex Price stands up there on the war memorial and lies through his teeth to save face.”
“He’s bound over, boss,” Kath said. “Surely he’d get picked up if he started rabble rousing.”
Blake shook his head. “And then, what? He’d be a martyr in some eyes. Picked up for speaking the so-called truth.”
“I just hope it doesn’t hamper our investigation, sir,” Alex Manikas said, settling into a chair next to Kinnear.
“It already has, Alex,” Blake muttered. “Just think of the manpower wasted shepherding those people. They could have been out looking for Noel Roscoe and Terry White.”
“One thing it does do, sir, is throw open the possibility of other suspects,” Vikki Chinn said. “I mean, if we’re accepting that Terry White is being manipulated in some way, then it could be anyone. Barry Davies or Dave Jones could have climbed into the taxi that night in the full knowledge that White was waiting to pounce on Paul Travis.”
“Maybe, but I’m not convinced by that story, Vikki,” Blake said. “I mean if you wanted someone killed, how would you be certain that White would carry out the deed without being there to supervise him? He isn’t the most reliable weapon. I mean, he can barely remember to tie his own shoelaces.”
“But Terry White has been linked to the scene of each crime in some way, either through the toy soldiers or by his physical presence.”
“It’s convenient, isn’t it?” Blake said. “Someone dies and White happens to be there but I don’t think he’s capable of that level of planning. He’d have to know when Travis was coming out of the pub, he’d have to get to Ufford’s house. That’s before we think about him gathering the weapons needed to cut someone’s throat or the means to inject a lethal dose of heroin.”
Kath looked dubious. “So somebody is just directing him to be at a certain location at a certain time, sir…”
Blake nodded. “Or even just taking him there. He leaves DNA and these bloody toy soldiers all over the place and then is told to run away.”
“So he gets the blame,” Kath murmured, considering the theory.
“Alex, has anything come from White’s mobile records?”
DC Manikas flicked through a file. “Not many calls sir. Quite a few from an unregistered mobile…”
“Any around the dates of the murders?”
“Mainly clustered on those days, sir,” Manikas said.
“It could be someone phoning orders through or giving White clear instructions about where to be and when.”
“Someone would have to know him really well to achieve that, though, boss,” Manikas said, looking pained. “I mean, really know what triggered him…”
“And how to get him to actually go to these locations,” Blake said, archly. “You’d have to know exactly what was going on inside his head.”
Vikki’s eyes widened. “The only person who fits that description…”
“Is Nicola Norton,” Blake said. “She has long periods of time with him. Time to convince him of things, to manipulate him. She may even have access to his medication. It doesn’t take a huge leap of the imagination to see how she could seduce Ufford into stealing for her. I bet if we try to locate where those unregistered calls are coming from, it’ll be Heswall and Port Sunlight.”
Kath Cryer pulled a face. “But George Owens told you that whoever was laundering money through Pro-vets killed Travis…”
“Why would they do that, though?” Blake said. “And why in such a public way? They have nothing to gain from all the publicity and scrutiny, have they? No, if Travis had told the money-launderers, they would have quietly dealt with Ufford and we would have been none the wiser. Maybe Ufford and Norton were working on their own and once Ufford had become a liability, she dealt with him.”
“She did this for money, sir?” Kath said, dubiously.
“It’s a theory. Norton said Owens grumbled about the amount of money Paul spent on her services. Ollerthwaite said something about Pro-Vets spending a small fortune on their psychologist. What if she was putting in inflated invoices and Ufford was clearing them? What if George Ow
ens was hinting that she was taking more than her fair share?”
“So Ufford wouldn’t be hard to overpower, I agree, Sir, but Paul Travis was built like the proverbial brick crapper,” Kath said. “How would Norton take him down?”
“She’s fit, ma’am,” Vikki said. “Very athletic. I reckon she’d be capable of getting in a knockout blow with the baseball bat. She was a member of the medical corps too, so she’d have the know-how when it came to cutting his throat quickly and efficiently.”
“We’d better find her then, right away. Kath and Alex, check her offices in Heswall, Kinnear, Vikki, you’re with me. We’ll check her house.”
Chapter 41
Traffic choked the area around Port Sunlight. Cars were abandoned on grass verges or in shop carparks and streams of people marched along the pavements and roads, all going in the same direction. “What the hell’s going on?” Noel muttered as he slowed the van down behind a queue of cars. “Is there some kind of event going on?”
Terry White twitched and stared out of the window, his knee pumping up and down like he was a rock drummer. “Too many people” he said. “What are we doing here?”
“We’re going to find Nicola, remember, Terry? Nicola. Just hold on. She’ll know what to do,” Noel said, his heart thumping. Terry had been more and more anxious as they neared their destination. He’d been rambling about Corporal Graves and various other people. Noel felt sorry for the lad but he’d gone above and beyond the call of duty for him. There’d come a point where Noel was just going to have to bail out and he was getting close to it. The traffic ahead had just ground to a halt and Noel glimpsed a copper up at the front. His stomach lurched. He was definitely too old for this nonsense. Glancing around, he saw a side road and swerved the van up it.
“What are you doing? Where are you taking me?” Terry snapped.
“There was a copper stopping the traffic up there. I couldn’t risk us getting caught, Terry,” Noel said, trying to keep his voice calm. “Don’t worry, I’ll find us somewhere to park and we can walk the rest of the way. It’ll be safer anyway.”