A Shot In The Night (John Harper Series Book 2)

by Edward Holmes

  “I take it the police didn’t want to keep coming out for that.”

  “No they didn’t,” he said reappearing with a plastic bag, “which is why I thought it best to give this to you.”

  Thompson opened the bag and out rolled a revolver on to the desk with a heavy clunk. Spencer and I both leaned forward for a better look and instinctively we went for gloves inside our jacket pockets, “When did it arrive?” I asked breathlessly.

  “I don’t know. I’ve been working all night with the homeless. My shift ended hours ago but it’s usually hectic trying to sort out all of the cots and the rest. When I saw the gun I put it in here, locked it away and then I heard about that couple being shot and that’s when I thought it best to speak to you.”

  I was quicker than Spencer with a set of latex gloves and lifted the weapon up by the small lanyard ring, which was particularly difficult due to the weight. Spencer leaned close to me and I could smell the coffee on his breath as he spoke, “You know what type of gun this is?”

  “Yeah it’s the Webley Mark IV in .38 calibre,” I replied looking at the gun as closely as possible, noticing dried blood around the muzzle.

  “That’s the same calibre as was used last night.”

  Lifting the weapon closer I sniffed it and smelt the faint odours of gunpowder and cordite, “And it was fired recently.”

  Delicately I passed it to Spencer who opened the weapon to reveal six cartridge shells, all spent, nestling in the recesses of the cylinder. He then placed it back in the plastic bag and asked, “Do you know who put it in the safe drop?”

  “No, that’s part of the system; it’s there to protect people’s identities. I take it you think that this was the weapon used last night,” Thompson said having patiently watched the two of us paw at the revolver. A thought crept into my mind that in a different time he would have probably been behind a desk like the one before him preaching as a reverend or a vicar, so much was he a carer for the public, but now in an age where religion took a back seat he was just another public sector worker.

  Spencer answered before I could, “I think there is a very good chance someone handed in a weapon that has committed four murders that we know of.”

  Thompson let out a low whistle and then ran his hand through his hair, “Why would anyone do such a thing? Surely it can only help your investigation?”

  I looked at the weapon again before I spoke, “If the guy is as clever as I think then I doubt it. I’m getting the distinct feeling that whoever this shooter is, they’ve just put two fingers up at the investigators.”

  “What do you mean?” Thompson questioned.

  “Giving us the gun is like saying we never would have gotten it in the first place if the murderer hadn’t gift wrapped it for us in a plastic bag.”

  Spencer looked at me and shook his head, “I think you’re reading too much into this, Harper. Some kid could have found the gun and dropped it off or maybe the gunman grew a conscience after shooting that couple,” he then turned to Thompson, “he’s always looking into these things more than he has to. Thinks because he did a course in profiling he can read a killer just by the crime scene and random facts.”

  Thompson smiled at that and I was compelled to defend myself, “Sometimes profiling can help in complex cases because it narrows down the suspect pool. In a case like this it can be really helpful when the suspect pool is essentially half a city. Yes, that’s a slight exaggeration I know, but unless there are some fibres or a fingerprint on that gun it doesn’t really help us. Giving us the gun is one thing but the actual weapon is a bigger indication to me about the shooter’s disdain for the police.”

  “You can’t say things like that without telling the rest of the story, Detective,” Thompson said, the grin still on his face.

  “That revolver has quite a long history. That model was once the service weapon to the armed forces and, for a time, the police. In fact there are still a few around the country in armouries so rumour has it.”

  “So that gun once upon a time upheld justice,” Thompson delivered with just the hint of preaching and all I could do was nod my agreement.

  Chapter Thirty Seven

  Spencer wasn’t happy with my inability to further his investigation. I had not been able to provide him with a clear suspect but the acquisition of what appeared to be the murder weapon would be a major coup for the detective. He was still struggling to make an impression having moved from the suburbs to the city and the difference in the severity of cases it entailed. Finding Ambrose’s name and now a deadly weapon would advance his cause on such a big case and the better he did with my help meant he was more beholden to me.

  Still, Spencer was good enough to drop me off at the sports hall that was serving as the location for the fighting event. It was a large complex which was linked to one of the universities but served a large area. He still maintained the stony silence that made each mile feel like ten. The manners I’d been raised to uphold still made me invite Spencer but luckily we both knew he needed to get the Webley to the lab as fast as possible and he jumped at that excuse to go.

  Standing outside, I realised quite quickly that I was overdressed for the occasion. Most of the crowd that were arriving wore t-shirts and jeans. Some of the more fashion conscious wore designer gear and the majority of the women present dressed in revealing and tight fitting apparel. It was an unusual mix of fight enthusiasts and people just having a good time. I was just happy to see people paying for a fledgling sport. More than one gang member I’d met over my career had made a better life for themselves by learning a martial art. Anything that instils discipline and structure whilst providing a physical outlet has always had my support and attention.

  The light was fading in the sky and when I went inside I was presented with the dilemma of turning left and straight into the event or to the right and the bar. Smelling the faint aroma of pub food I decided on the latter. Even though the main title events were hours away the bar area was busy. A couple of fighters and trainers drank juice, distinguishable from the rest of the crowd by their jackets which had no sleeves and were often trimmed with silver. The logos for ten different gyms that I could count mingled with no animosity. In a couple of hours they would be cheering on their fighters and hoping their rival gyms took a beating.

  Ordering a pint of Guinness and a plate of chips with a cheeseburger, I stood to one side and watched the football results scroll along the screen whilst waiting for the afternoon kick off to start. It was between two teams that were already in the relegation zone and showed little to suggest that come May they would secure safety. I was relaxing for the first time that week when I felt a hand on the crook of my elbow surprising me enough to nearly jerk and spill my beverage. I turned to see the Camille Jarvis standing before me wearing a grey pant suit with a purple blouse beneath the jacket.

  “Sorry I startled you, John.”

  “I was just shocked someone was more overdressed than myself,” I replied taking a sip from my beer.

  Camille looked down at her outfit and then flashed me that heart stopping smile, “I’ve come straight from an interview. I’ve been trying to get in touch with you all day.”

  “Huh hadn’t noticed,” I said dismissively and returned my gaze to the football, suddenly finding it much more interesting.

  Camille was having none of my attempt to ignore her and moved to stand between me and the television, the problem being she wasn’t tall enough to hinder all of my view, “John, come on, you’ve got to see this from my point of view. It was a great story and I needed to be out in front of it.”

  “Then I’m sure you’re not worried at all about the deaths last night,” I leant in close and whispered to her in a menacing tone, “I’m sure Big Saul is the forgiving type.”

  “You’re not going to scare me away, John. I’m sorry and I’ll do what I can to make it up to you.”

  I looked down from the television to stare into her eyes. Camille was difficult to read and I
got the feeling she really didn’t care as long as she could advance her career. She was right, though much like with Spencer the further those people progressed up the ladder with my help the better for my fledgling private investigation company, “Why are you here Camille? It’s not like you to apologise without being forced.”

  “Because I wanted to know if you knew anything more about what happened last night. Somehow you’ve managed to be one step ahead of the police investigation, you were there when Ambrose died, I’d love to do an exclusive interview with you and your partner into that. There’s also the continued shootings…do you think they are all linked?” Camille rattled off quickly.

  Not wanting to really be involved in a long conversation with the journalist whilst I was supposed to be enjoying myself and about to meet a source I adopted her fast talking style, “One short interview and you forget there was ever a second person there. I’m in no way ahead of the investigation I just followed my own lead and found Ambrose but unfortunately you ruined that. As for links, well I wouldn’t suggest it was all one person but if you want a scoop then I need assurances.”

  “Such as what?”

  “You’ve screwed me before, sweetheart, and not in a good way. I want tighter control on what you print. If you start messing with me, I’ll drop your site and then I’ll come after you,” My tone had turned from jovial to icy, “But I am willing to work with you if you start and continue to give me information I need. On occasion I would also like you to run some stories for me.”

  “So you want a pet journalist in your pocket?” she asked crossing her arms, the anger evident in her voice.

  “More like a symbiotic relationship. I help puff up your pieces with my experience and information you can’t get. It would, however, work both ways.”

  She bit her lower lip and then sighed, “If you want a formal relationship, I’m all for it. So let’s get started, what do you have for me?”

  I was a little surprised at how quickly she had jumped at the opportunity and of course I was going to put as much trust in her as a chocolate teapot but I could understand why. Much like Spencer proving his worth in a new department, Camille needed to show that she wasn’t just a one trick pony to the expectant media. Most local reporters didn’t bother to do any sort of investigative journalism, happy to report the most mundane of stories. I was lucky Camille wasn’t one of them, “Buy me a drink to seal the deal.”

  “Fine,” she said in the frustrated way most people get after speaking to me for long periods of time.

  Chuckling to myself, I stood there and drained the dregs of my pint. It was another small victory for me and although I still harboured anger towards Camille over the Ambrose incident, the silver lining was that I had learnt a valuable lesson in dealing with her. She came back and handed me another plastic pint glass, “Thanks.”

  “Erm John I’ve got to go,” Camille said as she glanced over her shoulder.

  “I thought you wanted to have a quick expose piece?”

  “Maybe tomorrow,” she said with an unusual tone in her voice that was vaguely like fear.

  “Right, well don’t you want that juicy piece of information that no one else knows? I mean it’s pretty big stuff.”

  Camille turned around looking through the expanding crowd, “Can you just text it me? I’ve really got to go.”

  “Sure,” with that she kissed me gently on the cheek and basically ran out of the building. I thought it suspicious but chalked it up the unerring quality of women to change their minds at the drop of a hat.

  Chapter Thirty Eight

  With Camille gone, I was once again alone and, with my full pint, decided to wander into the arena. After passing through security which consisted of one ticket girl and two extremely large men, neither of whom had a visible neck, I could get a better look at the location. It was a large sports hall that had dividing netting halfway across the space and a very high roof that still somehow had a variety of balls stuck in the rafters. Stands had been arranged in a roughly octagonal shape with two sides missing. One of the empty sides backed onto the far wall next to an emergency exit, but in front of the doors, in what I could only imagine was a clear breach of fire safety, rows of VIP tables and seats stood facing the ring. The other missing side was for a runway to the ring, at the other end of which was a small stage with advertisers logos hung on for pre and after fight photographs.

  Everything looked rather professional however the lighting was not ideal for the event with heavy spotlights on the sides which obstructed views for some of the fans and a large amount of the enormous hall was left empty. Still, for a grassroots sort of event I was impressed. I’d been to a number of pugilistic bouts that had been nowhere close to as organised as this one and a couple that hadn’t even been inside. Luckily this tournament was more civilised. Well, at least they were wearing gloves.

  There were no allocated seat numbers so I just picked one low in the centre of the nearest middle stand. The first couple of fights I watched were more junior competitors still wearing heavily padded shinguards. However the intensity was still evident. After the juniors, there were some more experienced combatants, bruising heavyweights that were more boxers than Muay Thai fighters. Their brutal swings brought some gasps and cheers from the crowd and when one of the dropped to the canvas the whole ring shook.

  I hadn’t seen Fraser or Tony but no doubt they would be busy networking and preparing fighters. As that thought entered my head, they appeared flanking one young man who stared ahead, eyes fixated on the ring as rap music played him in. I didn't hear who he was nor did I know who the opponent glaring across at him from the opposite side of the ring was but it didn't take away from enjoyment of watching the fight. The two combatants battling for five solid rounds made me thankful I had only had to face Micky for three. It ended with a unanimous victory for Fraser's charge which was greeted by deafening cheers for the local fighter.

  The next event was quickly announced as a British title bout and I was debating getting up for another drink and to see if I could speak to Fraser when a well dressed gentleman sat next down next to me with a heavy sigh, “You'll want to watch this fight.”

  I turned to look at the man who was well tanned with short grey to white hair that was just longer than stubble. He had light blue eyes the colour of glacial ice that hadn't left the ring. His suit was black and well tailored over a white shirt and shoes that shined enough that I could see my reflection in them. I recognised authority when I saw it and a sinking feeling in my stomach confirmed this when I looked around to see four men, all well dressed, but without enough forethought to be wearing jackets that adequately concealed their hidden weapons or maybe they just didn't care. Nodding towards the ring I asked, “Why, have you seen either of these fighters before, Saul?”

  “No, I've just heard of their reputations Mister Harper,” the infamous drug kingpin said to me without missing a beat, in a gravelly voice that sounded like it was forged from years of heavy smoking, “This kid here, Hawksworth he's from Liverpool, but fights out of a Wigan gym. Undefeated and got a real fire in his belly, even managed to win over in Thailand.”

  “Must be pretty good.”

  “It's all about the hunger and desire. If you've got it you can go far.”

  “I take it that's the mantra you live by.”

  Saul turned to look at me, “Something like that. So, Mister Harper, how goes your investigation?”

  “No offence, but what interest is it to you how my investigation is progressing?” I said treading a fine line.

  He pursed his lips for a moment’s reflection before returning his attention to the ring, “I may not live in the city any more, Harper, but I still pay attention to what goes on. Innocent citizens are dying on the streets and some people think that I am some way involved. I’d rather my innocence was proved.”

  I realised he was talking about Camille and it became clearer as to why she had left earlier in such a rush; she must have recognised Saul w
hen he arrived and made herself scarce just in case, “And you're not involved?”

  “From what I've heard about you, Harper, you're a smart man; why would I be involved in killing people in anyway?”

  “Sometimes that's just how the business works.”

  He laughed, which was somehow more menacing than the four armed men surrounding me, “You're quite right but I try to run a tight operation. I actively support a more open approach with rivals than a violent one.”

  “Whilst ensuring that you are isolated from any issues by not being in the country and having legitimate businesses.”

  That elicited another short laugh which turned into a cough. I could see out of the corner of my eye that he was smiling but refused to be drawn into looking at the man, instead watching the fight and the impressive Hawksworth who dominated the first round with an unerring aggressive approach, “I see you have done some research then.”

  “As have you. I don't think you're involved in any overt way here. The climate itself, which you have fostered, is more likely the cause.”

  “Still sounds like I'm getting the blame for these deaths.”

  “Are you sure that's not your own personal guilt?”

  Saul abruptly swivelled to face me, “Listen here Harper I have no guilt over any deaths, be they by my hand or not. When I grew up on these streets, you did what was needed to get by and that hasn't changed one bit. We're left to our own devices and we have to make do whatever way we can.”

  I judged the anger in his voice and yet it did not stop my approach to handling him, “You're not here anymore. Just like any other rich Scouser, you move away, turn your back on the people. Doesn't take long to look up rich and famous Liverpudlians who don't live in the city once they make it big.”

  “You're right,” he said which surprised me, especially how his tone shifted and he slowly went back to watching the next round of the fight, “The thing is I do it out of necessity.”