Out of the Night

by Dan Latus

  There remained the possibility that she had been a trafficked person, or involved in smuggling F16s or Chieftain tanks – or even not involved in events at Port Holland at all, of course. There was always that possibility, too.

  But my money was on her being involved. Somehow. I was sure of it. Otherwise, we were looking at a hell of a big coincidence.

  9

  Just before lunch I set off for Middlesbrough. I was meeting a potential client, a Jack Picknett, who wanted me to check out his place of business. He was worried about security, apparently. So his secretary said. We were meeting in a country pub in Marton, just outside what some people used to call ‘Steel City’, before they stopped making the stuff there.

  I arrived in the car park and sat for a few moments. I was early. So I had time to think some more about my mysterious visitor back at Risky Point, which I would have preferred not to do. She was taking over my life.

  Once again, though, I got no further. I knew no more about her now than I had that first night, apart from the fact that people were looking for her. That seemed to suggest she might still be around. So when I got home I would carry on looking for her as well, just in case she hadn’t got clean away. I was still worried she was supposed to be a fourth headless body.

  I was meeting my potential client in the restaurant. I can’t say I was particularly hungry or looking forward to a posh meal. I wasn’t in the mood. But sometimes you can’t afford to turn down an offer you wouldn’t have made yourself. It doesn’t hurt to be gracious occasionally.

  I asked for the table booked in the name of ‘Picknett’, adding that I was a little early. The waitress took me straight to a table by a window overlooking an immaculate lawn that was occupied by a variety of bird life. The feeders dotted around indicated that the birds were part of the regular entertainment. That was OK by me. I quite liked looking at birds that for once were not seagulls.

  The waitress went off to fetch me a glass of orange juice while I waited. I wouldn’t have minded a beer, but first impressions can count for a lot when you’re meeting a prospective new client. I wanted to learn more about the job before I risked blowing it.

  ‘Mr Doy?’

  I turned and looked up at a tall woman somewhere in her early thirties with long blonde hair who was towering over me.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Thank you for coming. I’m Ms Picknett.’

  I stood up. We shook hands. Then she moved round the table to sit down opposite me, giving me time to adjust.

  ‘Anything wrong?’ she asked, picking up on my confusion.

  ‘No, not a thing. It’s very pleasant here. Jack?’ I added.

  ‘Without the “k”.’

  ‘Jac?’

  ‘That’s it.’

  I chuckled and shook my head, trying hard to rid myself of the image of ‘Jack Picknett’ I had conjured up in advance: a fat, balding, middle-aged, businessman.

  ‘It sounds much the same.’

  She smiled and nodded agreement.

  ‘Your secretary could have warned me.’

  ‘She likes to have her little joke.’

  The waitress returned with my orange juice. Jac frowned at it and invited me to share a carafe of white wine with her. How could I refuse?

  ‘Did my secretary say anything about what I wanted?’ she asked, getting down to business.

  ‘Not really. It was just a brief conversation. She said you would like to meet me to discuss security in your business premises.’

  Jac nodded. ‘That’s right. I own an art gallery in town. It’s not exactly a salubrious area and I’m concerned about security. I would like you to check the place over and give me your advice, and an estimate of costs for an upgrade.’

  Fair enough. I was a little surprised that she hadn’t gone straight to one of the big security companies, or approached the issue in collaboration with her insurer, but cost might be an issue. Perhaps she couldn’t afford a Rolls-Royce solution.

  ‘I take it you’re in the area designated for regeneration?’ I said.

  ‘Yes, that’s right.’ She smiled and added, ‘You’re probably thinking it’s likely to be an uphill challenge, which it is, of course, but Middlesbrough needs businesses like mine. We hope to make a difference.’

  My turn to nod. I couldn’t disagree with any of that. I felt like wishing her luck.

  ‘So how did you hear about me? I don’t advertise my services.’

  ‘I know Lydia. We’re old friends.’

  Ah! My artist ex-girlfriend. At least, I assumed she was ex. We certainly hadn’t seen each other for a long while.

  Jac added, ‘Lydia says you’re a good man. A conventional attitude towards art, but reliable and good at what you do.’

  I arched my eyebrows. ‘Lydia said all that? What a cheek!’

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t worry about it,’ Jac said. ‘I’m a traditionalist myself when it comes to art. I like to see paint on canvas, and canvas on a wall. Lydia is different, isn’t she?’

  I grinned. I was beginning to like Jac Picknett.

  ‘She calls it Performance Art.’

  ‘Yes, I know she does. That’s what it is.’

  Whatever the official term for it, Lydia didn’t need security alarms. The challenge lay in persuading anybody to stop and watch.

  ‘Are we going to be able to do business together, do you think?’ Jac asked, giving me an arch smile.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ I assured her. ‘I’m sure we are.’

  Contrary to my expectations in advance, we had a pleasant lunch. Making it even better, Jac declined my offer to pay. We discussed her security requirements and arranged for me to pay her a visit at the gallery in a few days’ time. Then we parted with a handshake and a chuckle, having got on very well together.

  My good mood changed abruptly when I arrived back at Risky Point to find someone had smashed the front door open. Inside, the place was a mess. Furniture overturned, cupboards emptied, broken crockery and glass all over the place. Whoever had done it had gone through the entire house like a hurricane.

  My mood swung from shock to anger, and then rage. Bastards! I wasn’t in any doubt who was responsible. They had come back. I should have anticipated it.

  I wondered if Jimmy had seen or heard anything. He should have done. Middle of the day? He couldn’t have missed them.

  Then I began to worry. I left the house and raced over to Jimmy’s place.

  The front door to his cottage must have been open. They hadn’t had to smash their way through that. I went inside and saw they had saved their energy for the work ahead of them. Jimmy’s place was as big a mess as mine.

  Jimmy himself was on the floor in the living room. For a dreadful moment I thought the worst. Then he moved. He raised an arm. I rushed over to him.

  ‘I’m all right,’ he whispered.

  ‘Sure you are.’

  But he wasn’t. His face was a mess and he wasn’t moving much. He’d taken a pummelling.

  ‘The same people?’ I asked.

  ‘The same.’

  I took out my mobile and called for an emergency ambulance. Fifteen minutes, they said. I told them to try to make it faster than that.

  Then I questioned Jimmy about his injuries and examined him gently, but I didn’t move him or offer him painkillers. I just laid a blanket over him to try to keep him warm. It was hard to be sure but I suspected fractured ribs and an arm, as well as concussion. My biggest worry was internal damage.

  I fretted while we waited. He needed to be in hospital. All I could safely do was try to keep him warm and keep him company until help arrived. I’ve rarely felt so useless and impotent.

  The paramedics came, thank God, and did their first-responder stuff before taking Jimmy away. One of them kept up a cheerful banter to make sure he stayed conscious but none of them had much to say to me. I didn’t press them with questions or interfere in any other way. They had enough to do. The last thing I wanted was to distract them.

  Before th
ey loaded Jimmy into the ambulance he rallied and indicated he wanted to speak to me. I leaned down to him.

  ‘I told them nothing, Frank,’ he whispered. ‘They still haven’t got her.’

  ‘OK, Jimmy. Thanks.’

  I winked, gripped his hand for a moment and then stepped back. I just wished he had known something worthwhile to tell them. He might have been spared a beating then. Probably not, though.

  10

  Ihad two new pressing problems now, in addition to the ones I had started off with. I had two houses to clear up, and I had to decide how I was going to tell Bill Peart what had happened. I was more worried about the latter.

  I knew I would have to tell him. Burglary or breaking-and-entry, whatever you wanted to call it, was one thing. The assault on Jimmy Mack was in a different category altogether. If they had worked me over, I might have put up with it and gone looking for them in my own time. But the business with Jimmy was a different matter. The hospital authorities would have reported that to the police. There was no way it could be kept quiet.

  While I was still mulling things over, I saw a police Volvo 4 x 4 turn off the road onto our track. Long before I could positively identify the driver I knew one of my minor problems had disappeared. I didn’t have to worry any more about how to actually contact Bill Peart.

  I shut the door to Jimmy’s cottage and began to walk back to mine. By the time I got there, Bill had parked and got out. He stood looking at my front door. Then he turned and stared at me.

  ‘What you been up to, Frankie boy?’

  ‘Come on inside, Bill. It’s too bloody cold out here. You can help me clear up.’

  He followed me inside and whistled when he saw the state of the place. Then he got on his radio and called up some help. I was too weary and dispirited even to think of trying to stop him.

  I started turning things the right way up but Bill stopped me. ‘Leave it!’ he said sharply. ‘Leave it for forensics. Come on. I’ll buy you a pint down the road. We’ll just sit in the vehicle while we wait for my lads to arrive.’

  I wasn’t keen on the suggestion. This was my home he was talking about handing over to strangers. On the other hand, I wasn’t feeling up to doing much myself, and I would just be in the way of the forensics people. Besides, I couldn’t stop them going through Jimmy’s place, whatever happened here. So I let it happen.

  ‘The lads are very good,’ Bill said reassuringly as we trooped out to his Volvo. ‘They’ll respect the place and be careful. They know you’re a mate.’

  I smiled ruefully and rallied. ‘You don’t want to be thought a mate of mine, Bill. You might get beaten up and your front door smashed in. Anyway, how did you manage to get here so fast?’

  ‘I was in Port Holland and I heard some chatter on the radio. When Risky Point was mentioned I thought I’d better get over here.’

  ‘Port Holland again?’

  ‘Again. No more bodies, though.’

  ‘Thank God for that!’

  He had dispelled my immediate fear. No more bodies. That meant they still hadn’t found her.

  The Smugglers, four miles down the road, wasn’t a bad pub. In fact, it was very pleasant. Not that I was in the mood for frivolities. We sat in a corner of the very quiet bar and Bill bought a couple of pints.

  ‘So what’s going on?’ he asked.

  ‘Fucked if I know.’

  ‘No idea?’

  I sighed wearily and made a start.

  ‘When I came home the other day I found two guys trying to break into my house. I stopped them. Things got a bit out of hand but Jimmy came to the rescue with his shotgun.’

  ‘His legally held shotgun?’

  ‘Of course.’

  I certainly hoped it was.

  ‘And it was them again?’

  ‘So Jimmy said.’

  ‘Boy!’ Bill sighed and swigged his beer. ‘Didn’t even think of me? Sometimes I don’t know why I bother calling you a pal.’

  ‘You were busy with bodies on the beach,’ I protested. ‘You had enough to do.’

  ‘There’s a whole police force behind me.’ He held his beer up to the light and squinted at it before adding, ‘Maybe two, if it’s serious enough.’

  ‘I thought I could handle it. I thought I had handled it.’

  ‘Yeah. You did. Terrific.’

  ‘What’s wrong with your beer? Got floaters in it?’

  ‘Real ale, eh?’ he said, putting his glass down.

  ‘What’s wrong with that? Anyway, I’m hungry. Do they have any crisps at the bar?’

  He just looked at me. Then he carried on with what he wanted to say.

  ‘Humour me,’ he said. ‘Forget I’m a cop. Just for the moment. These two tough guys? Any idea who they were?’

  I shook my head. ‘I’d never seen them before.’

  ‘That’s not the same thing, is it?’

  ‘What do you want me to say, Bill? I have no more idea now than I had the other day, when they were trying to break into my house.’

  He changed the subject. ‘Where have you been today?’

  ‘To see a client – a potential client. Business development.’

  ‘Connected with this?’

  I shook my head. ‘She’s a friend of Lydia’s. She has an art gallery in Middlesbrough.’

  ‘She?’

  ‘Yes, she’s a she.’

  ‘Nice. And nothing to do with this?’

  ‘I’m going to see if they have any crisps. Another pint?’

  He shook his head. ‘I’m on duty.’

  They had only cheese and onion, which suited me well enough. I got a packet for Bill, too, hoping they wouldn’t interfere with his sense of duty.

  When I got back to my seat, Bill said, ‘I wonder what those fellers were looking for. There must have been something, the way they turned everything over.’

  ‘Just intent on maximum damage, probably. They got the worst of it the other day. Besides, they must have realized quite quickly there was no hidden treasure at Risky Point.’

  ‘Really? Nothing else to help explain it?’

  We seemed to have reached a crossroads. Either we continued down the road together or we went our separate ways. I didn’t struggle with that for long.

  ‘I might be able to help you a bit there,’ I said carefully. It seemed time to let him in on the secret. ‘They were searching for a woman. At least, I think they were.’

  I didn’t like the way Bill looked at me then. It was with a mixture of fury and contempt.

  ‘Why ever would they look for a woman in your house?’

  ‘Well, it’s not what you think.’

  ‘It never is, where you’re concerned. Here I am, doing my best to try to help you, and—’

  ‘I know, I know!’ I said soothingly. ‘Let me explain.’

  So I told him about my nocturnal visitor.

  He shook his head afterwards. ‘It just gets worse,’ he said bitterly. ‘I’ve got this shitty case at Port Holland to deal with, a chief constable that wants me out of the way, and you want to complicate my life further by telling me—’

  ‘You did ask!’

  ‘Yeah. I did. You’re right. And now I wish I hadn’t.’

  We talked a bit more. Bill calmed down and said he thought it was probably a coincidence, that there was no connection between my visitor and what had happened at Port Holland a few miles to the south. That’s what he said, at least. I didn’t argue, partly because I had no evidence to the contrary. All I had was a gut feeling. That was enough for me, but not for him.

  ‘We’ll see if we can find any prints,’ Bill said in conclusion. ‘See if your house was turned over by anyone we know. And we’ll do the usual things. But my feeling is that they’re long gone, like the woman. They won’t any of them be back to Risky Point again.

  ‘Come on,’ he added. ‘Let’s get you back home. You’ve got a lot of clearing up to do.’

  ‘If you want to stay and help,’ I said hopefully, ‘there
might be a fish supper in it for you?’

  ‘I’ve got a lot of work to do,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘And a home to go back to sometime.’

  I could empathize with him on that. His home probably wasn’t all smashed up either.

  11

  It took me a couple of days to clear up. My heart wasn’t in it to start with, but it had to be done. Even more than my own house, I wanted to get Jimmy’s place ready for when he came home. The advice that he would indeed be coming home, that he wasn’t on the way out, was a relief and helped fortify my resolve. I enlisted the help of a local woman who I knew cleaned holiday cottages in the area, and between us we got it done. Well, between us and a joiner to repair my door and a man who was good at mending sash windows.

  Before she left for the last time, Ellen, the cleaning lady, said, ‘The two of you could probably do with someone like me on a regular basis.’

  ‘That’s an idea,’ I admitted. ‘I’ll see what he says.’

  I had a quick look round before shutting Jimmy’s door and added, ‘It looks better in there than I’ve ever seen it.’

  She laughed, but she was pleased. I think she felt appreciated, which is always a good feeling to have.

  ‘It needed a woman’s touch,’ I added.

  ‘Actually,’ she said, ‘I wouldn’t mind working here regularly. It’s nearer than where I usually work.’

  ‘Where’s that?’ I asked as I walked her to her car.

  ‘Port Holland. I do cottages there, and occasionally I work at the art centre.’

  ‘Art centre? I didn’t know there was one.’

  ‘Oh, yes. It’s been there about a year. Just outside the village, actually. Meridion House? It’s a big place.

  ‘To be honest,’ she added, ‘I’m not so keen on going down there at the moment, with all this trouble.’

  ‘Trouble?’

  She shuddered. ‘Since they started finding bodies on the beach.’

  I nodded. ‘It’s a nasty business.’

  ‘It is. So I’ve enjoyed being here for a couple of days. It’s taken my mind off it all.’