THE NUMBERS GAME: a gripping crime thriller

by JOHN STANLEY

  ‘My heart bleeds for you,’ said Radford dispassionately. ‘So tell me where Creeley and Garnett came into it.’

  ‘You were right. They were customers,’ said Gerrard, adding quickly, ‘that’s all, and I didn’t kill them.’

  ‘And Manny Roberts? Were you in touch with him?’

  ‘Yeah,’ nodded Gerrard, ‘I did get the drugs from him. And you’re right, he decided he could make a killing in Leyton…’ His voice tailed off as they all considered the implications of the comment.

  ‘Well, he certainly did,’ said Radford thinly. ‘Do you know what happened to Ronny?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Come on, Ray,’ said Gaines.

  Gerrard looked over at his lawyer, who shrugged. If his client wanted to keep secrets from him, Holbert did not feel minded to help him out when they were uncovered.

  ‘All I said,’ whispered Gerrard, ‘was that Ronny had been shooting his mouth off.’

  ‘You must have known what Manny Roberts would do,’ insisted Gaines. ‘That’s as good as signing the lad’s death warrant and you know it.’

  Gerrard made no reply but hung his head.

  ‘OK, Ray,’ said Radford. ‘Let me level with you. I don’t think you’re a killer but I think you know who did kill Garnett, Creeley and Jeavons.’

  Gerrard raised his head and viewed him with hollow eyes.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘No, I don’t. Please, Mr Radford, you gotta believe me.’

  This time it sounded genuine and Radford looked at the security guard’s pale and drawn features and sighed. He was about to speak when his mobile phone went off.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, reaching back to his jacket draped over the chair and fishing about in his pocket. ‘I thought I had switched it off. Do excuse me, gentlemen.’

  He walked out into the corridor to take the call. It was Eric Davison, his counterpart in Eastern Division. The two men went back many years having trained together and Radford smiled when he heard the DCI’s voice. They had not spoken for several months and Radford had kept telling himself that a drink was in order.

  ‘Having fun?’ asked Davison’s gruff voice.

  ‘Depends on your definition of fun,’ said the chief inspector, pacing up and down the corridor. ‘If it means bodies piling up on your doorstep, then yes, I am in heaven. Anyway, what’s the call about?’

  ‘Remember our job over on the King’s Manor estate four months ago?’

  ‘Remind me.’

  ‘Woman in her early forties, lets someone into her home one night and he does for her. Stabbed through the heart with one of the tent pegs she’d left lying about in the back garden.’

  ‘Yeah, I remember but why are you ringing me about it? Surely you do not want us to start solving your crimes as well? I’ve got enough psychos of my own over here. I sure as hell don’t need any of yours.’

  ‘Ah, but perhaps you do. See, it turns out there may be links between our vic’s family and your Alma Street inquiry.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ said Radford, stopping momentarily in his pacing.

  ‘Yeah. Mind, we’ve only just turned it up. You might want to send someone over to pick up the gen.’

  ‘I’ll send Perlow.’

  ‘Perlow,’ said Davison in delight. ‘How the hell is he? Haven’t seen him since that booze up in the Nag’s Head during the summer. I was taking aspirin for weeks. Is he still going out with the barmaid with the sticky-out ears?’

  ‘Na, he’s shagging her sister now.’

  ‘Not the one with the wart on her nose?’

  ‘And that’s only the one we can see.’

  ‘Do you know,’ shuddered Davison, ‘I was about to go get a bacon butty but that’s conjured up an image that has put me right off my food.’

  Radford chuckled and slipped the phone back into his pocket. Turning to head back into the interview room, he saw Gerry Perlow walking towards him.

  ‘Ah, just the man,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a little job for you.’

  ‘But I was going to do some checking at the golf club.’

  ‘Yeah,’ nodded Radford, ‘Gaines told me. And we’ve also turned up the fact that Ray Gerrard was their security guard a few years back.’

  ‘Really?’ whistled Perlow. ’Now that is interesting. Is that the little job you want me to do?’

  ‘No, if you go and see Eric Davison, he’ll fill you in. He reckons there may be a link between our murders and the stabbing of that woman over on the east side.’

  Chapter twenty three

  ‘You are free to go,’ said Radford, walking into the cramped little cell at Read Street Police Station a few minutes later.

  ‘I should bloody well think so!’ said Brian Chambers defiantly. ‘This is a disgrace and I shall be complaining to your chief constable.’

  ‘Everyone else does,’ replied Radford calmly, ‘why should you be different?’

  Chambers got to his feet but found the chief inspector barring his way.

  ‘There is one thing before you go,’ said Radford.

  Chambers eyed him uncertainly, something in the chief inspector’s tone of voice alerting him.

  ‘You see, Mr Chambers,’ said Radford, ‘let me be honest with you, for a while we were looking at you for the murders in Alma Street.’

  ‘Preposterous!’

  ‘Possibly it was but your behaviour has been giving a lot of people cause for concern. They see you as out of control and when people get out of control, things happen.’

  ‘Are you really daring to accuse me of…?’

  ‘What I am saying is that the atmosphere surrounding Alma Street has become so charged that anything has become possible. Too many people have been shouting their mouths off and you played your part in that.’

  ‘How dare you say that?’ seethed Chambers. ‘I was only exercising my right to free speech.’

  ‘Maybe you were,’ said Radford, mindful of his recent experiences, ‘but free speech comes at a price. There are ways of doing these things, Mr Chambers, and acting like a madman is not one of them.’

  ‘You didn’t say that when you were going to the newspaper about your precious operation.’

  ‘Point taken,’ nodded Radford, ‘but that is somewhat different from exhorting people to take the law into their own hands, is it not?’

  ‘Well, actually…’

  ‘I mean, I did not threaten to barricade myself in the chief constable’s office, did I?’

  ‘No, but I tell you now, I will…’

  ‘You will shut up,’ snapped Radford, his patience now exhausted and the lack of sleep catching up with him. ‘You see, I am sick of my officers wasting precious time investigating your latest outbursts. And before you say it, yes, I will be making the same comments to Marjorie Pretty. The two of you need to take a long, hard look at your actions.’

  ‘But what has happened to Alma Street is a disgrace!’

  ‘Yes, it is, but that battle is now lost,’ said Radford as he stood aside to let him pass, ‘and too many people have died while it was being waged. Good day to you, Mr Chambers, make sure we do not meet again.’

  It was as Radford ushered Chambers out of the front reception and was turning to walk back inside the police station that he noticed a young man walking purposefully towards him along the drive.

  ‘Mr Radford,’ he said angrily. ‘I wish to register a complaint.’

  ‘And who might exactly you be?’ asked the chief inspector bleakly.

  ‘My name is Ernest Kemley and I…’

  ‘Well, Mr Kemley,’ said Radford curtly, turning on his heel. ‘If you would like to put it in writing I shall certainly consider it.’

  ‘But there is blood on your officers’ hands, including yours. Chief Inspector,’ said the hostel worker, standing hand on hips as he stared accusingly at the detective.

  ‘Meaning what exactly?’

  ‘Meaning that the moment you started questioning Ginch and Ronny, it was inevitable that something would happen to one
of them.’

  ‘And what would you have me do?’ said Radford, staring hard at the intense young man. ‘Order my officers to sit in the canteen and wait for inspiration from the ethereal plain? Send them home to guess who has been committing the murders? Suggest they play Scrabble in the hope that the killer’s name might miraculously form itself from the letters?’

  ‘No, but these are vulnerable young…’

  ‘Listen, Mr Kemley. If you want to register a complaint, go ahead. I am sure the chief constable would love to read it but in the meantime, might I suggest you go home. There are too many sodding people trying to tell me how to do my job. The last thing I want is another one.’

  And without further word, he stalked back into the police station, leaving Ernest Kemley standing dumbstruck in the pale light of a winter’s day.

  Chapter twenty four

  ‘Perlow, how the bloody hell are you?’ said Eric Davison, standing up and extending a welcoming hand as the constable walked into his office.

  ‘OK, matey,’ grinned Perlow, shaking the hand vigorously, taking the proffered seat and viewing the stocky, balding figure of the detective chief inspector with affection. ‘And you?’

  ‘The usual. Too much crime, too few detectives and Janice says I’m working too many hours. Says our sex life has suffered. You don’t fancy helping out, do you, by any chance?’

  ‘Are you sure she wouldn’t mind me shagging her?’

  ‘You keep your filthy paws off,’ chuckled Davison. ‘Besides, God knows what she’d catch. Anyway, I’m serious, do you fancy coming back over to the east side? I could do with a decent DC.’

  ‘Thanks for the offer but no thanks, guv. Besides, I kinda want to stay with Danny Radford. He’s not as bad as you think.’

  ‘I never thought he was bad,’ said Davison, ‘it was you lot that never gave him a chance. I’m glad he’s escaped the chop. God knows what the chief was thinking of. Hey, is it true what I hear about you and the barmaid’s sister?’

  ‘I wish people would stop calling her the barmaid’s sister,’ said the constable, pretending to be affronted. ‘She’s got a name, you know.’

  ‘Which is?’

  Perlow furrowed his brows and gave the pretence of thinking.

  ‘No,’ he said, holding up a hand towards the grinning chief inspector, ‘don’t tell me. It’ll come if you just give me time. Begins with a S, I think.’

  ‘Slapper?’ suggested Davison.

  ‘I shall not dignify that comment with a reply. So why am I here?’

  ‘Right,’ nodded the DCI, suddenly serious and glancing down at the top file on his desk. ‘Several months ago, Penny Hayworth, 42… would have been 43 now, her birthday was last week … recently divorced, hubby walked out on her two years ago to live with another woman.’

  ‘Is he still around?’

  ‘Lives a few streets away. Not the most pleasant of men. He’s got a couple of priors for assaults on club bouncers and a wounding with a Stanley knife, that sort of thing.’

  ‘I take it he’s your main suspect?’

  ‘Not that simple. There’s nothing concrete linking him to the killing. What we have got is neighbours who reckon he was not getting on well with Penny, violent arguments, overturned furniture, that sort of thing.’

  ‘What were they arguing about?’

  ‘Their son. Kid called Alan. He’s eighteen and a real good for nothing. No job, lazes about the house all day, shows no interest in anything. And he’s fallen in with the wrong crowd as well. You know the type, Perlow.’

  ‘Only too well,’ nodded the constable, thinking of Ronny Gallagher lying in his hospital bed, hooked up to a life support machine and watched all the time by the loyal Ginch.

  ‘Anyway, turns out the ex-hubby is a bit of a soft touch when it comes to the kid, feels guilty about walking out on him so he’s been slipping him money on the QT for months. The kid has been spending it on booze and it’s developing into a real problem.’

  ‘I’ll bet it is.’

  ‘Anyway, earlier this year the lad drinks too much vodka, gets found in the park and is rushed to hospital for his stomach to be pumped out. That’s when mum finds out what her ex-hubby has been doing. She goes ballistic and there is another huge fight. He whacks her across the face. Uniform get called but she did not want to press charges.’

  ‘And she was killed not long after the row?’

  ‘Five weeks. Alan was out at an all-night party. Found her on the Saturday morning when he got in. Last person to see her alive, first person to find her dead.’

  ‘So he’s a suspect as well?’

  ‘They’re queuing round the block on this one,’ nodded the DCI. ‘Trouble is, there’s nothing forensic to link him to the killing either. However, on Tuesday we found out entirely by chance that Alan and a mate had a summer job three years ago. Spent a couple of weeks collecting balls on the driving range at The Lake golf club.’

  ‘That place again,’ murmured Perlow.

  ‘Exactly. Anyway, I was talking to Connor - we’re organising a charity golf match for the hospice - and I mentioned The Lake as a venue. That’s when he said you were interested in the place. I mentioned Alan’s mate and Connor said you had been talking about him.’

  ‘And who is he again?’

  ‘This is meladdo’s employment record from the time,’ said Davison, sliding over a piece of paper. ‘Our DS really had to persuade the club president to let us have it. Bloke called Montgomery, really defensive type.’

  Perlow nodded.

  ‘Does the name ring a bell?’ asked Davison, nodding at the document.

  ‘Yeah, it does,’ nodded Perlow with a sceptical look. ‘But you’re barking up the wrong tree if you’ve got him in the frame for your murder.’

  ‘Certainly has motive.’

  ‘Oh, come on,’ said Perlow.

  ‘Not so fast, Perlow old lad, turns out our man had the hots for Penny Hayworth. Once her divorce came through, your chap fancied his chances.’

  ‘Never in the world! She must have been nearly twice his age.’

  ‘Never stopped you,’ said Davison slyly.

  ‘Granted,’ grinned the constable.

  ‘Anyhow, neighbours say he was round there a lot of the time, staying over at weekends, pretending to be visiting Alan but really eying up his mother. Trouble was, we could not put a name to the face and neither Alan nor his dad have said anything from day one.’

  ‘Did Penny Hayworth fancy matey?’

  ‘Seems so - if you ask me, she was flattered by all the attention - but she ditched him when she realised he was serious, a couple of weeks before she was murdered.’

  ‘So what we do we do now?’

  ‘Work it together. Hey, are you impressed - solving your crimes for you? Sure you don’t want to come back? Do some proper detective work for a change?’

  ‘No thanks,’ said Perlow. ‘Besides, I’ve suddenly got the urge to play around.’

  ‘Nothing changes,’ grinned Davison.

  ‘And would you have it any other way?’ asked the constable, heading out into the corridor.

  ‘No,’ smiled Davison, watching him go, ‘I don’t think I would, Gerry, lad.’

  Chapter twenty five

  ‘So you’re back then?’ said Alain Montgomery, eying Gaines and Perlow with an air of resignation.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Perlow, ‘and we want to know why you didn’t mention that you had been talking to DCI Davison.’

  ‘It didn’t seem important. I take it you are here to talk about poor Colin Jeavons?’

  ‘Among others.’

  Montgomery looked at him in dismay. Sitting there, it seemed as if his life was crumbling around him. A retired accountant, Montgomery had always had a passion for golf and when he acceded to the club presidency, it was the proudest moment of an uneventful life. He resolved that his term of office would be remembered long after he had stepped down. The Lake, he promised himself, would become known as the finest clu
b in this part of the world and everything he had done had been dedicated to developing its reputation. Indeed, he had just secured an agreement for the North of England Open Tournament to be held there for the first time in its history and had been about to announce the fact to the press when he heard about the death of Colin Jeavons. Delaying the announcement, Montgomery was only too acutely aware that it could yet be for ever; golf was a world of reputation and the publicity surrounding a police investigation could do incalculable damage.

  ‘Tell us about Ray Gerrard,’ said Gaines.

  Montgomery looked at them blankly.

  ‘He was a security guard here two or three years ago. He told our DCI that you would speak up for him.’

  ‘Officious type? Ex-Army?’

  ‘That’s him,’ nodded Perlow.

  The president looked out of the window again, noting that dark clouds had blotted out the pale winter sun and thrown shadows across his beloved course.

  ‘Three years ago,’ he sighed, ‘we were broken into a couple of times. Usual thing, they forced a window and took money from the slot machines. It was not the money that hit us hard but the repairs so we employed a security guard.’

  ‘Ray Gerrard?’

  ‘Yes. He said he had a lot of experience. Anyway, a few weeks later we were broken into again and it turned out Gerrard was asleep in his office when it happened.’

  ‘I take it he was fired?’ asked Gaines.

  ‘On the spot,’ nodded Montgomery then lowered his voice conspiratorially. ‘Colin Jeavons fired him.’

  ‘Really?’ said Gaines, his eyes gleaming.

  ‘It all got rather nasty. Gerrard threatened to sue us for unfair dismissal. Anyway, to avoid bad publicity, Colin agreed, rather against his better judgement, I think, to give this Gerrard chap a glowing reference. I imagine that is why he assumed we would sing his praises again.’

  The detectives digested the information for a moment.

  ‘I do rather hope,’ the president said at length, ‘that our discussion marks the end of your questions.’

  ‘I am afraid not,’ said Gaines.

  ‘You see, we are also helping Eastern Division investigate the murder of Penny Hayworth. There may be a link with what happened in Alma Street.’