by Bud Craig
She picked up her cup and drank, looking away for a second.
“But I am really glad to see you. I always liked you,” she added, echoing Tony’s words in the Park Hotel. “I thought you were a good influence on Tony.”
Fat chance, I thought.
“For years I thought of getting in touch with you,” she went on, “but Tony...he buggered up a lot of things for me for quite a while.”
I bet he did, I said to myself. She sighed and drank more tea before continuing.
“The baby I was expecting...Tony’s son...I had him adopted.”
“I had no idea,” I said.
I shook my head at the sadness of it all as she went on.
“I could never have coped...or I convinced myself I couldn’t.”
She sighed again and looked round the room.
“Maybe it was my mother who convinced me.”
That I could believe.
“You know what it was like, Gus, with a staunch Catholic family,” she added, “It would have been shameful enough to be pregnant to a Murphy.”
She thought for a moment, then spoke again.
“I remember hearing about Tony being mixed up with a gang who beat up a paedophile... something like that anyway.”
“That rings a vague bell,” I said.
“So he wasn’t the sort of lad my mam and dad had imagined me going down the aisle with...”
She smiled ruefully.
“Still, that would have been better than no wedding at all.”
I wondered at the attitudes of 40 years ago, the hypocrisy, the sitting in judgement on ordinary human flaws. Brenda went on.
“I never really came to terms with losing my child. I was always wondering how he was.”
I thought of the niggling worry about how Danny and Rachel were that was always there at the back of my mind. How much worse must it have been for her?
“Anyway,” she said, suddenly smiling, “a few weeks back, my boy contacted me.”
“Brilliant.”
“We met last week. His name’s Adam.”
I could see tears starting in her eyes.
“He’s an architect in Southport. Married, 2 kids, Jake and Chloe.”
“So you’re a grandmother.”
“Yes,” she smiled.
She spent a moment composing herself.
“He asked about his dad, of course. I said he’d abandoned me and I had no idea where he was.”
True enough.
“He was so disappointed,’ she said, “he was planning to try and find Tony. Maybe there’s no need now.”
With a name like Tony Murphy he would have had a job, I thought.
“I was gonna tell him his father was a waste of space, you know, but I didn’t want to upset him any more.”
“So what do you want to do about Tony,” I asked. “Do you want to see him?”
She nodded, stifling a tear.
“I do want to see Tony. Not for my sake, but for Adam’s.”
She took a deep breath and went on.
“I need to tell him about his son, find out if he wants to meet him.”
“Right.”
She sat up straight.
“And I want to tell the bastard what I think of him.”
* * *
On the journey back I could hardly believe what had happened. Just a week or so ago I’d no idea where Tony Murphy was. I never thought I would ever see or hear of Brenda again. And now look. My next task was to tell Tony the outcome of my visit to his ex-girlfriend. That needed to be done today, but it would have to wait until I got home. I needed privacy.
I recalled my recent anxiety about my lack of work. Now I had been commissioned for one case. Not much but it would have to do for now. It hadn’t come from Marti. She had given me all my investigation jobs until now. Did that matter? I contemplated Marti and me a bit more deeply. Did we have a future together? I hoped so, that’s all I could say. We were behaving as though we were still a couple but...But what? Marti’s accident seemed to have postponed decision making. She might, I supposed, need my help when she came out of hospital. What would happen when she was OK? She obviously wanted to marry me. I didn’t want to marry her so it was an impasse, wasn’t it? Once she had recovered from her injuries would she want to stay with me?
Putting that to one side, I thought about Tattersall and who might have killed him. I felt involved because of Rachel and because I had met the man. If it were a vigilante killing as Arthur had suggested, who were the vigilantes? And how did they find out about Tattersall’s offences? It would have been reported in the Midlands papers, but not in Manchester. This thinking was based on the assumption that his paedophilia had led to his death. He could – in theory at least – have been killed for another reason. What he had said about a murderer being employed in Ordsall Tower came back to me. He had hinted this might put him at risk. Who killed him was sod all to do with me, thank goodness. Still, DI Ellerton might actually call me in as a consultant. Yeah, and Elvis might be running a pub in Lower Broughton.
* * *
That evening I visited Marti in hospital again. She confirmed she would be fit to go home tomorrow. Back at my flat I rang Tony.
“I’ve found Brenda,” I told him. “She’s in Sheffield.”
“What? Well done, mate. How did you manage it?”
I chuckled knowingly.
“I have my methods.”
“Like what?”
I gave another little chuckle. I was enjoying this.
“Trade secrets, Tony. The important thing is I’ve just got back from seeing her.”
“You work quick, I’ll give you that.”
Another satisfied customer, I thought.
“She’s looking good,” I said, “done well for herself.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
So you should be, I thought.
“I think we’d better meet soon. I’ll give you a full report then.”
“Right, where and when?”
I thought for a moment.
“If you’re still at the Midland, I’ll see you there in half an hour.”
I’d had to curtail my experience of how the other half live when Marti walked out on me in the Keaton Hall Hotel. Now I could make up for it.
“Fine. Come up to my suite. I’ll order a bottle of Scotch.”
I grimaced at the thought of whisky.
“Make it red wine and you’re on.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Thirty-five minutes later I got off the tram at St Peters Square in the centre of Manchester, a matter of yards from Tony’s hotel. I stood by the tourist signs to Castlefield and the Opera House. Lost in admiration, I stared at the Midland, an Edwardian listed building several storeys tall. Taking up a whole corner, it was more impressive at night, its lights standing out against the darkness.
I went into the foyer with its checkerboard marble floor, its pillars seemingly holding up the ceiling. I went up two floors in the lift and turned right. Tony answered my knock straight away and ushered me into the second posh room I’d been in that week. We could have sat at a small dining table but opted for two armchairs that engulfed us. We faced one another across a small table, as Tony poured two glasses of Rioja.
“Cheers,” we said, clinking glasses.
“What a night last night,” he said, “that Angela, what a raver she turned out to be.”
Did I want to hear this? Not really. I had a sure way to change the subject.
“Have you heard about Josie?”
He looked blank as I savoured the wine.
“Josie?”
“She was at the quiz at the Park Hotel, about thirty, glasses.”
He didn’t look any the wiser.
“What about her?”
“She was murdered.”
“Murdered? Shit.”
I explained the circumstances.
“I remember her now. Walked with a stick. So this happened just after we left the pub?”
<
br /> He shook his head in disbelief.
“Yeah,” I said. “The police want to see you.”
He looked aghast.
“Me? What for?”
I wondered at the extremity of his reaction.
“They’re talking to anyone who was at the Park Hotel that night.”
He gulped at his wine.
“You didn’t tell them where I was, did you?”
What was up with him?
“I said you were staying here.”
He sat deep in thought.
“The last thing I want is the cops sniffing round,” he said.
His left hand stroked his chin.
“They only want to know if you saw anything. You went for a smoke with her didn’t you?”
He sipped more wine and thought.
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“The police will want to know what you talked about.”
“How the hell should I know? Just general chit chat as far as I remember. She went on about her boyfriend. Oh, and something about getting into trouble when she was young.”
I was about to ask him what kind of trouble he meant when he spoke again.
“I did see her as I was leaving though. We got in the taxi, Angela and I, and I realised I’d forgotten my fags. I went back to get them. As I was getting back in the taxi I saw her going into the car park.”
That must have been minutes before she died.
“Anyway, enough of this,” said Tony. “What gives with Brenda?”
“She runs the Brenda McDonald Employment Agency.”
He grinned at me.
“Never. I thought she had no ambition. Shows how much I know.”
I sampled a bit more of the excellent wine.
“She wants to see you,” I told him.
“Sounds good to me.”
“I’ll give you her details.”
I passed over the card Brenda had given me.
“It’s up to you to get in touch. Oh and you owe me £155.”
He went over to the bedside table and picked up a wallet. Taking a handful of notes out he went back to his chair.
“There you go, Gus,” he said, counting out £160. “Keep the change.”
“Thanks.”
I wondered if that was the end of me earning money for now.
“I’ll ring her tomorrow,” said Tony, “try and get over to see her soon. Did she say anything else?”
I sipped more wine.
“Plenty, but I’ll leave her to tell you when you see her.”
He nodded.
“Fair enough.”
I looked him in the eye.
“Just as long as you don’t go missing again.”
He smiled conspiratorially.
“I’m always missing, me.”
* * *
About 11.30 the next morning I picked Marti up from hospital in her car. She hobbled out to the Mercedes with the aid of just one stick. The bruising on her face had faded a bit more but she still looked fairly battered. I carried the roses out to the car and put them carefully on the back seat. Marti opened the passenger door and struggled into her seat. Getting the seat belt done up with some difficulty, she took a few seconds to get her breath back.
“OK?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she said, “if you discount lack of sleep, and the pain in my leg.”
She adjusted her position slightly and put her left leg out in front of her.
“Oh, and my head hurts. I’m not allowed any more pain killers for half an hour.”
“You’ll be better off at home.”
She sighed.
“Yeah. Thanks for coming to collect me. I apologise in advance for being grumpy.”
I’d be grumpy if I were in her state.
“What I thought I’d do,” I said, “was get you some lunch when we get to your place.”
“Right,” said Marti. “I’ll probably have a nap after that.”
We lapsed into silence for a while. I drove on. I thought Marti would nod off before we got to Timperley.
“I’ll come over and stay tonight, if you like,” I said.
“Yes, please.”
That was a relief. I didn’t like to think of her on her own.
“I doubt if I’ll be able to get my leg over, though,” she added.
I laughed.
“The stick would make things interesting.”
What did jokey exchanges about leg over say about me and Marti? Did it mean we were back to where we started? Something told me discussion of all that would have to wait until Marti was in less pain.
I left Marti at home sleeping like a baby and went home to get my stuff for an overnight stay. I arrived at Salford Quays, still wondering what had become of Josie and what it was about her past she didn’t want anybody to know. I told myself it may be irrelevant to her murder. Simon was the prime suspect. But he hadn’t been around at the time of her death, had he? She must have been killed in the few minutes between my leaving the pub and her brother arriving.
* * *
As I got home and put the key in the door I heard footsteps clumping upstairs and, soon afterwards, a movement behind me. As I went in, a man rushed into the flat after me. I turned to face him, my fists clenched.
“What the...?”
He was about forty, at a guess, bulky build. His navy blue overcoat, worn over a grey suit, looked like Sunday best, the sort of thing people wore to church. Maybe he was a Jehovah’s Witness, I thought with horror.
“No need for alarm, Mr Keane,” he said.
He sounded local.
“What the hell do you mean by...”
Calm as you like, he sat at the kitchen table.
“Get out.”
“I won’t keep you long,” said the intruder.
He smiled ingratiatingly.
“Nothing to worry about. I’m looking for your friend, Mr Murphy.”
Trouble with a capital T again.
“Well, he’s not here,” I said.
I sat down. If you can’t beat ‘em join ‘em, I said to myself.
“My name’s Eric Consett, by the way,” he added.
I knew Consett was a former steel town in County Durham but, that apart, the name meant nothing to me. I looked him up and down, while I waited for an explanation.
“I need to contact him urgently, it’s a financial matter,” said Eric. “Just tell me where he is and I’ll be on my way.”
I shook my head, scowling at the trespasser.
“I haven’t a clue,” I said. “Now if that’s all I’m busy. You know the way out, same way you came in.”
He sat still, looking at me, then he spoke again.
“I managed to find out Murphy was staying in the Midland Hotel.”
How very clever of you, I said to myself, as he went on.
“I went along there this morning. I was surprised to discover he’d checked out at 6.30.”
What was Tony playing at? I only hoped he’d had time for breakfast.
“And?”
“You might not know for certain where he is,” said Eric, “but could you maybe hazard a guess?”
“No.”
I could have hazarded any number of guesses, but I was buggered if I’d do so for Mr Consett.
“Pity,” said Consett pensively. “I was hoping for a bit more co-operation.”
He sat back as if making himself at home.
“Cos, you know, Gus – you don’t mind me calling you Gus, do you? – this mate of yours is not worth protecting.”
Protecting from what? Or from whom? I pondered these questions as he went on.
“Not worth getting into trouble for, if you see what I mean.”
“I don’t know w...”
“He’s been ripping people off all his life,” he went on, “but now he’s picked the wrong bloke to rip off.”
I was prevented from asking what he was on about by a knock on the door. I got up.
“Looks like the US Calvary h
as arrived, Eric.”
“Ah, DI Ellerton,” I said, opening the door, “perfect timing. Come in.”
As she came in, she noticed my visitor.
“Mr Consett, we meet again,” she said.
She looked at me as though seeking explanation for Consett’s presence in my kitchen.
“You keep strange company, Gus.”
I thought I’d better straighten her out about my choice of friends.
“Your friend Eric here,” I said, “has just barged into my home and he’s refusing to leave.”
“Has he now?”
“He’s started to make threats and he’s getting on my nerves. As a law-abiding taxpayer I wonder if there’s any chance you could do something about it? It doesn’t seem a lot to ask.”
She took out her warrant card and flashed it briefly at the miscreant.
“Eric Consett, I'm arresting you on suspicion of behaviour likely to cause a breach of the peace.”
The big man looked pleadingly at her.
“Come on now, love, there’s no need for this...”
Bad move, Eric, I thought. I couldn’t see that approach working with Sarita, especially if she were addressed as ‘love’.
“... You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence, if you fail to mention, when questioned, something which you may later rely on in court. Anything you do say, may be given in evidence. Do you understand?”
With a sigh, Eric responded.
“Yeah,” he muttered, turning to me. “I never meant no harm, mate.”
Sarita sat down at the table, waiting for a response.
“It was never meant to get this far,” he whined.
“You should have thought about that before now,” said the DI. “You’re already on bail for...another matter. Or have you forgotten that?”
“Course I’ve not forgotten.”
Had my dad been there he would have said Eric didn’t know whether to shit or be sick. Luckily he did neither. We sat in uncomfortable silence for a few seconds.
“Now then,” said the inspector, ‘listen to me. I can call for back up right now and have a couple of uniformed constables cart you off to the station.”
Alarm spread over his face. At a guess I would say he didn’t fancy that. Sarita went on with her explanation.
“And I can’t guarantee you won’t be seen going into the station or that word won’t get back to Baz Prince that you’ve been helping police with their inquiries.”