SALFORD MURDERS: The Private Investigator Gus Keane Trilogy

by Bud Craig

  I didn’t have time to chat so smiled and started to leave.

  “I’ll see you, Jimmy. Running late this morning.”

  “Oh, by the way, Gus,” he added, “Ellen’s flying over today. You’ll have to come and meet her soon.”

  “Great. I’ll bring Marti.”

  “Yeah. And I can get you tickets for her world tour if you fancy it.”

  “If I fancy it? Try and keep me away.”

  What it’s like to be friends with a rock star’s brother, I thought.

  * * *

  I got back to the flat a couple of hours later, thinking I should ring Steve. I couldn’t imagine what he had phoned about this morning, but at least he’d got me out of bed.

  “Hiya, Gus,” he said. “You ringing about Moyesy?”

  I smiled at the way Steve referred to Man U’s ex-boss as if he were one of his golfing cronies.

  “Should I be?”

  “Yeah, that’s what I called you about this morning.”

  I might have known. Steve was a United fanatic, whereas I was just a supporter. And I preferred rugby league.

  “What’s your expert analysis?” I asked.

  Steve wittered on about the woes of his favourite team for much too long. Just as I was losing the will to live he changed the subject.

  “You still working?”

  I couldn’t afford not to, unlike Steve.

  “Yeah. I’m on call tonight. Five until midnight.”

  “On call?”

  “Yeah, did I not tell you? I’ve signed up for the Emergency Duty Team. They get in touch when they’re short-handed, you know.”

  “I have a distant recollection that you took early retirement a few years ago,” said Steve. “Or did I dream that?”

  I laughed.

  “No, you didn’t dream it. But as I said at the time, I still need to do some work to supplement my meagre pension. And the EDT pays well.”

  “Can’t be bad. How’s Marti?”

  “She’s fine,” I said, “busy as usual.”

  I had more than once accused Marti of being a workaholic. When she wasn’t in court representing clients she was singing in a band called A Lop Bam Boom alongside my daughter. What spare time she had was increasingly taken up with looking after her aging mother. Sometimes I was amazed she had time to see me at all.

  “Solicitors are never out of work,” said Steve with all the cynicism he’d built up in a long police career. “You haven’t made an honest woman of her yet then?”

  That, I thought, could qualify as a rhetorical question. Steve knew I had no intention of marrying Marti.

  “No. You won’t need to compose a best man’s speech.”

  Marti and I had been an item for about four years and people we knew expected us to be married by now. I saw no reason to change the nature of the relationship. While Marti had been keen on marriage at one stage, I was unsure how she felt now. She had become more reticent lately and had even stopped dropping obvious hints about our moving in together.

  ‘She’s not got you investigating any murders then,” asked Steve?

  I thought of my other job as a private eye, which had led me to look into a few murders.

  “No. I want to steer well clear of that. A couple of pints on a Friday night is enough excitement for me.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  “I love Andrea to bits of course,” said Tim Greenhoff at around ten to seven that night.

  I waited for the inevitable ‘but’ as he scratched his beard thoughtfully.

  “But she’s so jealous.”

  We sat on the settee in the lounge of a former old people’s home a hundred yards or so from Ordsall Tower. My diary, notebook and pen lay ready on the coffee table in front of me – since its closure, Mangall Court had become an office for the emergency duty team. “If I so much as talk to another woman she goes off on one,” he explained. “I mean, I’ve no idea what she gets up to when I’m not around, but I’m not forever accusing her of shagging every bloke she meets.”

  His wife had rung on the office phone a few minutes earlier. To check up on him, Tim reckoned. That had triggered his confessional. Now he was doing what most people did in my company: giving me the low down on his problems. The fact that we hardly knew one another didn’t put him off.

  “It’s not only that, you know,” he went on. “She’s really high maintenance.”

  Wondering what he meant, I tried to look interested. For someone in his late twenties he sounded suspiciously like a grumpy old man.

  “But she seems to think we’ve got more money than we have. She knows how much – or how little – I earn and she’s a primary school teacher. Do the maths.”

  What was I supposed to say to that?

  “But she must have the best of everything,” he went on. “iPad, smart phone, top of the range TV...you name it. She’s even joined the gym at Dacre House.”

  Dacre House, eh? Membership of the same health club as Marti would be pricy. “And she’s booked us on a Caribbean cruise in August,” Tim went on.

  “Sounds nice,” I said.

  I meant the Caribbean, not the cruise.

  “You wanna see the price. God knows how we’re supposed to pay for it. I’m up to my eyes in debt as it is.”

  Apart from that, it’s a match made in heaven, I said to myself. He sighed and I was hoping he had run out of steam. From a retro settee, I looked round at the huge TV that dominated the room, the old-fashioned music centre, and the sort of furniture that went out of fashion in the eighties.

  “That’s why I’m on the EDT,” he said.

  I broke off to answer a call on my mobile. Within seconds it was obvious I would have to go out: two kids needed a foster placement as their mother was being admitted to hospital. I explained the situation to Tim after ending the call.

  Hearing a knock at the door, he left the room as I looked for the number of the foster carers I wanted. Having got that sorted out, I was ready to leave. I wasn’t looking forward to leaving the warmth of Mangall Court. The temperature had dropped markedly as I had started my shift, so it was now more like November than April.

  As I took my waterproof from the back of the chair and got up, Tim came back in. With him was a tall, slim bloke in an overcoat with a velvet collar over a grey suit that looked fresh from the cleaners. He had, I thought, taken a lot of trouble getting ready before he came out.

  “This is Will,” said Tim as he and his companion sat down.

  I nodded, putting my anorak on.

  “I rang you this morning,” smiled Will, taking off a pair of leather gloves.

  He spoke with an air of confidence.

  “This morning,” I said, puzzled.

  “Yeah, about a book I’m working on.”

  So he was the novelist and Tim Greenhoff was the ‘friend’ who had given him my name. With friends like you, I don’t need enemies, I almost said.

  “I thought I’d try to catch you in person,” Will went on.

  The temptation to call him a cheeky twat was strong, but I resisted. He had a muscular build, the result of regular work outs at a guess, and I didn’t want to upset him.

  “I’m afraid I can’t help you,” I said, “I need to go out.”

  “Pity,” said Will, trying to inject genuine regret into his voice. “I’m happy with the idea. I could really make something of it, but I need to make it realistic. That’s where you come in.”

  His boyish enthusiasm was disarming, I thought, but I still didn’t have time to listen to him.

  “I’m sure Tim would help you.”

  “But you have the experience, Gus,” said Tim.

  I shrugged.

  “Right. I’m off,” I said with some emphasis.

  “I’ll hold the fort here,” said Tim. “Probably get called out myself soon. You’ll be out for a while, will you?”

  I thought for a moment. With two young kids, probably upset about their mother, this job couldn’t be rushed.

  �
��Should think so.”

  “OK, have fun.”

  “Hey, Tim,” I heard Will Trader say as I went out, “Can I have a look round this place while I’m here? There’s a scene in the novel set in an old folks’ home, you know.”

  * * *

  As I was about to get into my car, I recognised the man walking past the car park entrance.

  “Hello, Jimmy,” I said, “What are you doing round here?”

  “I’ve only just finished work,” he explained. ‘I’m off to get some fish and chips. Caitlin’s out.”

  He huddled up in his waterproof jacket and scarf.

  “I’m still working. I’m on the EDT tonight. Just got my first call-out.”

  “Oh, I see. How does that work then? Is it just you on duty or what?”

  “Me and Tim Greenhoff tonight,” I said.

  “He used to work at our place, didn’t he?”

  “So he told me. I can’t say I remember him though.”

  “He was only there five minutes. The vacancy on the EDT came up just after he started. It was good riddance to bad rubbish as far as I was concerned.”

  “Oh? How come?”

  “I had my reasons,” he said.

  I didn’t have time to decipher cryptic clues.

  “Anyway, I’d better go,” I said. “Do you fancy a pint some time?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What about the Park Hotel Friday night?”

  “Good idea,” he agreed.

  We arranged to meet in the pub at eight o’clock. I didn’t want to hang around in the cold so began to move away

  “By the way,” he said, “that Vicky Monroe got the job. Starts first of May.”

  I wondered what the handbag woman and I would find to talk about when we met again. Before I could comment, I heard someone walking towards me. Turning, I saw a man of about forty with cropped hair.

  “Is Greenhoff in there?” he asked as he came to a stop in front of me.

  “Sorry,” I said, not being able to think of anything else.

  “I said, is Greenhoff in there?”

  He spoke with slightly less aggression, nodding in the direction of Mangall Court. I shook my head.

  “I have no idea.”

  Jimmy looked on warily. It was obvious this bloke spelt trouble and it would be best if we both stayed where we were until we could get rid of him.

  “Do you know?” asked the man, turning to Jimmy.

  “What was the name again,” asked Jimmy.

  “Greenhoff. Tim Greenhoff.”

  Jimmy thought for a moment before answering.

  “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

  “Wasn’t there a Greenhoff played for United back in the seventies,” I put in. “Two of them, I think, brothers.”

  The angry man looked from one to the other of us with a vacant stare.

  “One of them died last year, the younger one,” added Jimmy.

  “There’s another Greenhoff who’s gonna die if I get my hands on him,” snarled the man. “Should I tell you what that bastard did to me? I’ll tell you what he did. He took my kids off me.”

  An angry client, that was all we needed.

  “Terrible,” I said.

  “Bloody right, mate,” he said, making me wish I had been less sympathetic. “He left his job a couple of weeks later and nobody would tell me where he was. But I tracked him down. I reckon he’s in there right now.”

  He pointed at Mangall Court.

  “That’s an old people’s home,” I said.

  Luckily, the old sign hadn’t been taken down.

  “Closed down,” said the man. “It’s the office for the emergency team now.”

  “Emergency what?”

  He looked at me, amazed at my ignorance.

  “It’s, like, a team of social workers who deal with anything that comes up out of office hours.”

  Trying to look grateful for being enlightened, I wondered how to get rid of him.

  “And you reckon he works there?”

  “I do and I’m gonna get him.”

  Bugger.

  “I don’t know much about these things,” I admitted, “but I’m not sure that’s a good idea. What do you think, Jimmy?”

  “I agree, you don’t want to put yourself in the wrong, do you?”

  He looked uncertainly at us, his original anger slowly dissipating.

  “Don’t I?”

  Handle this right, I told myself and this madman could soon be off our hands.

  “No. What I would suggest, er, sorry, I don’t know your name...”

  “Wayne Dickens.”

  “Well, Wayne, I reckon you need a lawyer, don’t you think so, Jimmy?”

  Wayne treated this suggestion with contempt.

  “I’ve got one, fucking useless, he is.”

  “You’re entitled to change your solicitor,” said Jimmy. “There’s a good one on Salford Quays. Pym and Sigson. Top notch they are.”

  Wayne hesitated. His adrenalin had got back to normal.

  “Yeah, maybe you’re right,” he conceded. “I’ll get along there first thing in the morning.”

  “Ask for Mrs Sigson,” I said.

  “Yvonne will kill me,” I said, as I watched Wayne walk away.

  Marti’s partner hated family cases. Still it got us off the hook, didn’t it? I reminded myself to tell Tim about Wayne Dickens when I got back.

  * * *

  I drove off, heaving a sigh of relief. As I got nearer my destination, I heard rattling from the engine of my Peugeot. I started to wonder if it would get me to where I was headed. The bloody thing was on its last legs and I was reluctant to fork out for repairs or a new motor.

  The car got me back an hour and a half later without mishap. I had settled the children with their new carers and would have to arrange someone to visit them tomorrow. Poor kids, I thought, remembering their confusion at being parted from their mother again. Good job you’re such a hard bastard, I said to myself, or this job could upset you.

  I opened the door of Mangall Court. In the hallway I heard something upstairs. I paused to listen then decided I’d better find out what was going on. As I climbed the stairs, the noise got louder. I couldn’t be sure but it sounded like somebody in pain. I got to the landing, trying to make out which bedroom it was coming from. The door with a number three on it was slightly ajar. I leant on the door until it was open sufficiently for me to see inside, managing to do this without making a sound.

  A collection of garments was scattered randomly around the room. On the vividly patterned carpet a lacy bra trailed across a black skirt; a white blouse was draped on top of a pair of Manchester City boxer shorts; a pair of trousers lay crumpled in a corner. A naked man with a pimple on his left shoulder writhed on the mattress, straining against the white ropes that tied his hands to the brass bedstead. The woman straddling him, like her partner, had her eyes shut tight. She wore only a red and white scarf knotted round her neck. The frown on her face looked familiar as she forced otherworldly noises out of her mouth with every thrust. I pulled the door to and moved away. The two lovers had been concentrating too hard to take a blind bit of notice of me.

  I went downstairs, struggling to contain my laughter. Several questions went through my mind. The principal one was how Tim Greenhoff came to be shagging handbag woman, Vicky whatever her name was. A miserable cow, Hannah had called her. Even in mid-orgasm the new fostering manager looked as if she’d just lost twenty quid and found ten pence.

  Ah, well, it’s one way of passing the time, I said to myself as I went into the kitchen. Over a cup of tea, I wondered about Tim’s wife. He had a cheek to complain about her jealousy. If he indulged in extra-marital shenanigans while at work, what did he get up to on his days off? And what about Vicky? Did she have an unsuspecting bloke waiting at home for her? When Louise had been having it away with Brad I was certainly unsuspecting.

  It was half an hour before I saw Tim again. During that time, I didn’t dare go upstai
rs. I was just coming out of the downstairs loo when I saw him and his bedmate approaching the front door.

  “All right, Tim,” I called.

  He turned round guiltily, as did Vicky. She was wearing the same clothes as this morning. She didn’t look as if she had cheered up any.

  “Oh, hi, mate,” he said ingratiatingly. “Wasn’t sure if you were back.”

  “Yeah, been back a while.”

  “Right. This is Vicky, by the way, a friend of mine. She’s in the area and... popped in for a bit.”

  Popped in for a bit, eh? Another expression to add to the lexicon of euphemisms.

  “Hello,” I said, trying not to laugh.

  She gave a half-hearted wave, no more than a flick of the fingers.

  “Hi.”

  “You’ve still got your handbag I see,” I said.

  She looked at me as if I were mad.

  “My handbag?”

  I said nothing. The penny dropped.

  “The less said about that the better,” she said in a strong Lancashire accent.

  Sorry I spoke, I thought. She turned to leave.

  “See you then,” I said.

  “Sorry about that,” said Tim as he closed the door behind her.

  I shrugged. We walked back towards the lounge together.

  “Nice girl, Vicky. A United fan, but nobody’s perfect.”

  I refused to take the bait; I didn’t want to get back to the David Moyes sacking.

  “Her turning up was quite useful actually,” Tim added.

  Useful? And they say romance is dead.

  “In what way?”

  He looked pensive for a moment.

  “Financially, I guess you’d say. We discussed a way I might make a bit of extra cash.”

  “Before I forget,” I said, “I thought I’d better tell you I saw Wayne Dickens outside earlier.”

  “Bloody hell, what did he want?”

  “You.”

  I explained the altercation with Wayne and how Jimmy and I had got rid of him.

  “Thanks, mate,” he said. “I owe you.”

  He shook his head and sighed.

  “One of the reasons I applied for the EDT was to get away from people like Dickens. I didn’t feel safe.”

  The constant fear and anxiety nagging away in the background was all too familiar to me.

  “The thought of having to deal with the same people for months, years,” Tim went on, “it’s just...”