SALFORD MURDERS: The Private Investigator Gus Keane Trilogy

by Bud Craig

  Wayne Dickens

  On the face of it he might be the best suspect. He had an obvious motive and had threatened Tim several times. There doesn’t have to be a financial motive or a sexual one. I had thought the scarf was evidence of a sexual motive because of what I had seen Tim getting up to in Mangall Court with the woman I thought was Vicky. The murderer could just have used the scarf because it happened to be there. Wayne lives near Mangall Court. It wouldn’t have taken long to get there to kill Tim, but there was the question of how he got in the building.

  Will Trader

  He was in Mangall Court earlier, but he must have left while I was out. He was friendly with Tim and Andrea. He could have gone back to Mangall Court, but why should he?

  I would have included Caitlin Gallagher at one time, but as I now knew for certain she was in Blackburn at the time of the murder there was no point. Unless she hired somebody to kill Tim. Unlikely to say the least. I read through the list again. It didn’t take me very far. Still, I thought I was missing something.

  What was it Louise had said that had my mind racing for a clue? I replayed the conversation we had over lunch, trying not to think about what happened afterwards. We had talked about misheard lyrics, hadn’t we? The sort of daft thing we used to talk about when we were young.

  Had somebody misheard something or what? Wait a minute, I said to myself, Caitlin has trouble with her hearing. And there was the mystery of Caitlin hearing Tim Greenhoff talking to his dead grandmother. The most likely explanation was that she thought he said ‘Gran’ when he actually said something else.

  Feeling stiff from sitting down too long, I stretched my arms out and tried to loosen up my shoulders. Then I came up with the answer. He must have been talking to Francine Ingleby. ‘Fran’. Pity it got me no further in finding out who killed Tim Greenhoff.

  Maybe Louise hadn’t said anything very important. Yet I still had a feeling she had. I looked again at my list and after a while I saw what was missing. I grabbed my coat and went out, hoping I was right. Did Elvis have the answer?

  * * *

  “Good morning, Ms Ingleby,” I said.

  The frown on Francine’s face matched the overcast sky.

  “Oh, shit, what do you want now?”

  I had caught up with her just after she had come out of the probation hostel, a squat brick building on Regent Road about a quarter of a mile from Ordsall Tower. Over shabby blue jeans she wore the same leather coat I remembered from the first time I saw her.

  “Just a few questions,” I said pleasantly. “I won’t take up much of your time. I’m sure you’re busy.”

  She looked to her left as though she had seen something of note.

  “Too busy for you,” she said.

  “What about Will Trader,” I asked, “are you too busy for him?”

  “What you on about. I haven’t seen him for weeks.”

  “So you were never in a relationship with him?”

  She looked at me with scorn.

  “Will Trader? I can just see myself. Anyway, don’t you get chucked in prison for shagging your cousin?”

  A black car pulled up a few yards ahead of us. The front passenger door opened. Francine ran along the pavement and got in the car, which roared away.

  So much for that, I thought as I watched the car disappear into the distance. Another theory knackered. Unless Francine were lying; but in this case she’d have no reason to do so. Will had said he fancied Francine, I was sure of it. Was that what he said, or was my memory playing tricks with me? It wouldn’t be the first time. Maybe he’d just said she was fanciable or something, which wouldn’t mean a thing. I had convinced myself Will was bitter about Tim having sex with her, bitter enough to kill him. What a load of rubbish.

  I’d had a half-baked idea based on The Girl of My Best Friend, confronted Francine Ingleby for no good reason and ended up more confused than ever. All before nine o’clock in the morning.

  * * *

  About four o’clock that afternoon DI Ellerton was sitting in my kitchen.

  “Do you know where Francine Ingleby is?” she asked without preamble.

  “No. Why do you ask?”

  “You were seen talking to her this morning.”

  Trying and failing not to interpret ‘seen talking to her’ as in any way sinister I told her the truth.

  “That’s not surprising. I did talk to her.”

  She took a note then looked up.

  “She’s gone missing.”

  I’d worked that out for myself but refrained from commenting. Sarita sat slumped on her chair and let her jaw drop. Her eyelids drooped so much I thought she’d fall asleep there and then. I couldn’t recall seeing anyone so exhausted or fed up.

  “What did she say to you?” she asked.

  “Hardly anything, just wondered what I wanted, said she didn’t want to talk to me.”

  She had a look on her face I would have described as sceptical.

  “Nothing more?”

  “Whoever saw me must have noticed Francine was only in my company for a matter of seconds before she got into a car.”

  She tapped her pen on the table top, screwing her face up in concentration. Predictably she asked if I had recognized the driver, remembered the number plate and what direction they were heading. I got the distinct impression my answers were of little use.

  “What did you need to see her about?” asked the Inspector.

  “I wanted to appeal to her better nature,” I lied.

  The sceptical look came back with a vengeance.

  “I was going to ask her to return the money she had stolen from Eliott McIntyre, mainly for his sake, but on the basis it might mean she got off with a lighter sentence. It was Eliott’s idea.”

  I don’t know if the DI believed me, but if she didn’t, we would both, I felt sure, get over it.

  * * *

  “Are you never gonna leave me alone?” asked Andrea Greenhoff about nine o’clock the following morning.

  She was on the pavement washing her car as I walked past her house.

  “I’m just passing,” I said. “On my way to see a friend.”

  She put her sponge into the bucket on the ground and raised her eyebrows. There would have been no point in telling her I was on my way to Debbie’s parents’ house in the next street to help her load up her car before the removal men arrived. As a reward, she had invited me to her new flat for a meal on Friday night.

  “So you’ve not come to cross examine me?” asked Andrea.

  “No,” I said, glancing at the suds dripping down from the roof of her car. “Your Peugeot’s a lot smarter than mine.”

  She shrugged.

  “It’s not really right for me. I need something more practical. I’ve put this thing up for sale, that’s why I’m washing it.”

  Strange behaviour, I said to myself.

  “Why did you buy it then?”

  “Somebody bought it for me,” she said, “since you ask.”

  I stared at her, unable to hide my amazement. That was what was wrong with her having a Peugeot RCZ: she got it before the insurance money had come through. At least I now knew how she’d been able to afford it.

  “Somebody must love you. Who was the generous benefactor?”

  She looked me in the eye, hesitating as if wondering whether to answer my question. Whatever it was about me that encouraged people to open up had worked again.

  * * *

  Later, I sat in my living room, listening to a song on the Elvis CD that had taken on added significance once more. When I left Andrea I had a lot on my mind. I knew what she had told me was important but I needed to think about it. It was a good thing I’d had to spend a couple of hours at Debbie’s house before getting back to the flat. That had given me time to go through everything carefully, and stopped me from doing anything precipitate. I still hadn’t decided what to do when my phone rang.

  “Hi, Gus, it’s Louise, just wondered if you fancied lunch or anyt
hing...”

  “Good idea,” I said, unable to stop myself speculating about what ‘or anything’ might mean. I was about to invite her to the flat, when I made a decision.

  “I’m just on my way to the Holiday Inn,” I said, “can you meet me there?”

  “OK,” she replied, “about twenty minutes?”

  I was out of the apartment five minutes later, my mind working overtime, piecing things together as I walked. By the time I arrived at the Holiday Inn I had a good idea what to do and say. I looked round the bar, taking in the scattering of people drinking and chatting. Bugger, he’s not here, I said to myself. I got myself a glass of house red and took it to a table at the back of the room.

  Frustration at not being able to carry out my plan made me restless. I picked up a coaster, turned it around in my hand and put it down again. I looked at my watch, took a sip of wine, put the glass down. Ten minutes crawled by before I saw the man I wanted come in. To add to my frustration he looked in every direction, but the right one. I waved towards him.

  “Will,” I said just loud enough.

  He waved back, smiling, before getting a drink from the bar and joining me.

  “I thought I might find you here,” I said.

  “I’m obviously becoming too predictable.”

  But I’ve discovered you’re anything but predictable, Will, I was tempted to say, not if I’m right about one or two things. I went through what I wanted to say in my mind, but before I could speak, Louise came in. She wore a leather jacket over a blue t-shirt, a silk scarf draped carelessly round her neck.

  When she got to my table, she kissed me. As I introduced her and Will to one another, I saw out of the corner of my eye a smartly dressed man with not much hair enter the bar. Having established we were OK for drinks, Louise started to make her way to the bar.

  “You’re supposed to be in fucking Australia,” shouted the man I had just seen coming in.

  He stood in front of her, blocking her way.

  “Brad please...”

  “And you said you weren’t going back to Gus Keane.”

  Gripping her by the shoulders, he shoved her backwards with all his might, pinning her against the wall. Her scarf floated to the floor.

  “Lying bitch, you’ll be sorry,” he snarled.

  I saw the fear in Louise’s eyes and leapt to my feet, but Will was quicker than me. Getting there ahead of me, he picked up the scarf and quickly looped it round Brad’s throat. Louise watched for a moment as a choking, gurgling sound came from her husband. She dodged round the two men, flinging herself into my arms.

  “I’ll teach you to hit a woman,” said Will, managing to sound as if he was holding it together, although his actions suggested he had completely lost it.

  I watched in guilty fascination for a while. Among all the thoughts that swirled around in my head two dominated: one, what I was witnessing confirmed all my suspicions; two, wouldn’t it be nice if Brad were to die right now?

  “Are you OK?” I asked Louise.

  “Yes, I think so,” she sobbed. “I’m sorry, Gus, I bring you nothing but trouble.”

  “No need for you to be sorry, it’s that toe rag who’s to blame.”

  I looked again at the two men. Will still hadn’t let go of the scarf and I began to think that Brad really was going to die.

  “Will, that’s enough,” I said to no avail.

  I repeated the request, raising the volume. By now seriously worried, I got up and tried to pull Will away from Brad. At first I made no impact and began to wonder how we’d explain the presence of a dead body in the Holiday Inn. I strained against Will until at last he moved away.

  “That’ll do now,” I said, “he can’t do any more harm.”

  Brad slumped to the floor, writhing round the carpet. Rasping coughs struggled out of his mouth as he gulped for air. Will stood over him, breathing hard, a look of grim satisfaction on his face. I took out my phone and called the police.

  “Come and sit down, Will,” I said when I had finished, “I want to talk to you.”

  He obeyed, moving like a zombie, taking deep breaths as though in pain.

  “Sure you’re OK, Louise,” I said, taking her hand.

  “Fine.”

  Her tears had subsided but she didn’t look fine.

  “I have to ask Will some questions,” I added.

  “OK,” said Louise, squeezing my hand tight. “Thank you, I’m glad you were here.”

  Turning back to Will, who looked physically and emotionally drained, I got straight to the point.

  “Was that how you killed Tim?”

  He nodded.

  “I reckon you went back to Mangall Court on the morning of his death,” I said. “After your all-nighter at the Duke of Earl.”

  He nodded again as his breathing got back to normal. Brad staggered to his feet and made for the exit. I let him go. He wouldn’t get far. Will cleared his throat.

  “Yes,” said Will. “I thought I might scrounge a bit of breakfast. Tim was nowhere to be seen so I went to the bedroom. He was having a snooze up there. He’d stripped down to his Man City boxer shorts.”

  He gave a little shudder of disgust.

  “I woke him up, then soon wished I hadn’t. He started bragging about what he had been up to with Francine Ingleby the previous night.”

  “And you couldn’t stand that because you were in love with Andrea,” I said.

  He looked at me for a moment in surprise.

  “She told me about you buying her the car,” I explained.

  I thought again of the song Louise liked: The Girl of My Best Friend. Elvis had had the answer after all. I’d thought it was Francine who Will was in love with. Wrong again, Gus. I thought of the conversation I had had with Andrea outside her house.

  “She said you’d been carrying a torch for her for years,” I went on. “You hoped the car could be a wedding present. Weird way of proposing.”

  He looked at me, a pleading note came into his voice.

  “I would have cared for her, looked after her. Tim was never worthy of her.”

  He would as well, I told myself sadly.

  “When she turned you down you went apeshit, she said. Flinging things round her living room...”

  “Yeah, shouldn’t have done that.”

  This reminded me of Vicky Monroe explaining her view of Will that day in the Scilly Isles. She had wondered what lay under the surface; Will was calm ‘most of the time’, she had said. Hadn’t Caitlin said something similar about Jimmy? Maybe that was what it was all about: everybody had their breaking point; nobody could keep things bottled up forever.

  “I’ve always loved her, I suppose,” Will explained. “It’s only recently I admitted it to myself. The way Tim treated her...you’re right, it was hard to take.”

  He gripped the table top and drank some whisky before going on with his account.

  “Anyway, that morning when it all happened, he showed me the scarf and ropes he and Francine had used. He seemed to think I’d be impressed. God, why did Andrea put up with it?”

  He clenched his fists tight as though reliving the build-up of anger he had gone through.

  “I could feel myself losing control,” he said, “then he showed me this jewellery Francine had given him. She’d nicked it from some bloke. Not only was he with the woman I loved, he was going to make money as well.”

  “And was that what tipped you over the edge?” I asked.

  “Maybe. At the same time it was more than that. It was...years of watching him with Andrea...it was as if he knew I loved her and was...taunting me or something. He used to call me URL, you know, unrequited love.”

  So that was what it meant, I thought, as Will took a deep breath before he went on.

  “I would have snapped sooner or later.”

  “What happened next?”

  He breathed in, then out again.

  “He lay down again and said he was going back to sleep. Within a minute or so he was
snoring.”

  “Was that when it happened?”

  “It was bloody chilly so I had my coat and gloves on. That meant there were no prints on the scarf. More luck than judgement, I have to say.”

  He swallowed hard.

  “I felt exultant afterwards. At the same time a part of me, a voice at the back of my mind, said ‘fuck, what have I done?’”

  “Why did you tie him to the bedstead?”

  While waiting for him to answer, I saw my counterpart, DI Ellerton, walk in with a couple of colleagues.

  “To humiliate the bastard. The United scarf round his throat was the final insult for a City fan.”

  It was hard to believe he could do all that and still behave normally.

  “I took the jewellery with me and sold it to one of the dodgy types who get in the casino. That was how I could afford the car.”

  He gave a little half laugh.

  “What a waste of money.”

  * * *

  Three days later I was in Ellen Gallagher’s living room at her invitation, still not quite believing what had happened since the drama of the Holiday Inn. As well as Ellen, Marti was there with Jimmy Gallagher. Caitlin was conspicuous by her absence. Jimmy had hinted mysteriously that he’d have something to say about that later. I’d told them about Will buying Andrea a car, the incident in the Holiday Inn and Will’s confession. Now I sipped at the glass of champagne that Ellen had provided to celebrate her brother’s release.

  “Will Trader’s in custody,” I said at the end. “So is Bradley Harton.”

  “Well, you’ve played a blinder, Gus,” said Ellen.

  “Yeah, nice one, mate,” agreed Jimmy, raising his beer can, having turned his nose up at the expensive bubbly his sister had bought.

  “Now, pay day,” said Ellen, handing me a bulky A4 white envelope.

  I opened it and began to look inside.