Death in July

by Michael Joseph

  'The name rings a bell,' said Archie, his face screwed up in concentration, 'but I just can't put a face to it.'

  'Ex-soldier,' prompted Sam. 'Lived on Eastern Green Road. Walked with a limp.'

  Archie's eyes lit up.

  'Wasn't he the bloke who was attacked outside his home a while back?'

  'That's the one,' confirmed Sam. 'You didn't know him personally, then?'

  'No, never met him,' replied Archie, shaking his head. 'But I remember the fuss in the papers at the time. A war veteran being set upon on his own doorstep and all that.'

  'Archie!'

  Both men looked over to the bar. Tina had her arm aloft, beckoning Archie over. The queues at the bar had got even longer.

  'No rest for the wicked,' sighed Archie. 'I'd better go.'

  'I'm getting off as well,' said Sam, draining the last of his drink. 'I'll explain the questions next time I see you.'

  ***

  Outside the pub, Sam pulled his phone out. He didn't know anybody down at Newgate police station, but he still had a contact from his days on the force. The phone rang out twice before a strong Midlands accent answered.

  'DI Humphreys.'

  'Richie, it's Sam. How are you?'

  The groan down the line didn't sound good.

  'I'm desk-bound right now, Sam. Broke my leg on a job. It's just paperwork for me for the next few weeks.'

  Sam offered his commiserations, knowing only too well how much his old friend would be struggling, stuck behind a desk every day. Sam had worked alongside Richie Humphreys for many years. Richie had stood by him during the dark days following Sam's departure from the force.

  'Anyway,' said Richie, 'enough about me. How's life by the seaside?'

  'Fresh air, Richie. You can't beat it.'

  Richie laughed.

  'Give me thick, industrial smoke any day. And how's the private sleuthing going?'

  'It's been quiet, but something's just rolled up, and I could do with some details confirming.'

  'Fire away, Sam. I'm in front of a computer right now.'

  In no time at all, Richie brought up the police report regarding Geoffrey Compton's death. A neighbour had knocked on Geoffrey's door last Thursday evening. Getting no reply, he peered through the window and saw Geoffrey slumped in his chair, surrounded by tablets and alcohol, and immediately rang the police. On arrival, officers broke down the front door and found Geoffrey unconscious. Despite administering emergency first aid, they pronounced him dead at the scene at half past seven. The investigation found no suspicious circumstances. No sign of a break-in. No unexplained prints. Based on the evidence and post-mortem, the coroner recorded a verdict of suicide.

  'Sounds pretty straightforward, Sam.'

  Sam remembered the conviction in Benjamin's voice earlier that day.

  'His son isn't so sure,' he told Richie. 'He's asked me to check it out.'

  'Found anything yet?'

  'It's still early days.'

  'Well, it's hard to argue with the evidence.'

  'I know, mate, but I promised the son I'd do a bit of digging...and he's paying well.'

  'Fair enough, bud. Just give me a bell if you need anything else.'

  With that, Sam rang off and headed for his car. It was time to see where Geoffrey Compton had lived.

  ***

  Eastern Green Road was on the other side of town. With the roads quiet, Sam got there in ten minutes. He took a leisurely drive around the area, getting a feel for the neighbourhood. Driving down Eastern Green Road itself, he noted well-kept houses running down either side. Tidy front gardens and relatively new cars implied the residents were both proud of their homes and financially comfortable.

  A quiet, affluent area.

  That image was shattered somewhat as Sam neared Geoffrey's home. Loitering outside the deceased man's detached stone cottage was a group of teenagers, none of them looking older than sixteen. They were shouting, pushing each other around exuberantly, jumping up and down on the low wall fronting the cottage. One or two stared at Sam as he drove past.

  He continued to the end of the road, where Newgate Ex-Servicemen's Club stood on the corner of the junction. Sam pulled into the car park, got out of his Capri and locked up. Walking around to the club entrance, he glanced back up Eastern Green Road, estimating Geoffrey's cottage to be no more than ten minutes walk away.

  Sam's path into the club was blocked by a doddery old gentleman insisting it was a private establishment. Resisting a smile, Sam explained he was an old family friend of Geoffrey Compton and was in Newgate for his upcoming funeral. Would the members mind if he spent some time with them reminiscing over their recently departed friend? Sam emphasised he had the permission of Geoffrey's son to be there. Technically, he wasn't lying. Benjamin had told Sam to do whatever he needed to get to the truth.

  The elderly doorman told Sam to wait and went inside the club. Minutes later, he re-appeared and waved Sam through. The main room was large, cool and sparsely-populated. A lengthy bar ran along the far wall, tables and chairs were dotted about the place, and a pool table stood unused in the corner. The dozen or so patrons scattered about the room took little notice of Sam as he headed for the bar. Only the hefty-looking barman paid him much attention. Leaning casually on a pump, hand towel draped over his shoulder, he watched Sam approach. When he spoke, his low voice boomed across the quiet room.

  'So, you're here for Geoffrey's funeral, are you?'

  'That's right,' replied Sam. 'I've got some spare time, so I thought I'd come and meet some of his friends.'

  The barman eyed him suspiciously.

  'Where and when's the funeral, then?'

  The question was sharp and fast, designed to catch Sam out. He had come prepared.

  'This Saturday,' he answered. 'Up at St Monicas church, I believe.'

  The barman grunted.

  'Well, I don't want you upsetting anybody,' he said begrudgingly. 'Do you want a drink while you're here?'

  'I'll have a whisky. So, who knew Geoffrey well in here?'

  The barman laughed as he reached up to the optics.

  'Everybody knew Geoffrey. He'd been coming here so long he was part of the furniture.'

  A glass of whisky was put in front of Sam.

  'See that chap sitting in the corner?' the barman said, pointing over Sam's shoulder. 'That's Harry. He was probably closest to Geoffrey.'

  Sam paid for his drink and headed for the corner. Harry was an old man in a tweed jacket and grey slacks. On the table in front of him was a pint of ale, a newspaper and a flat cap. He was currently engrossed in the paper.

  Sam stood next to his chair.

  'Harry?' he said. 'Do you mind if I sit down?'

  Harry ignored him, his eyes glued to the racing page. Sam coughed.

  'Harry?'

  'He can't hear you!' the barman shouted. 'Tell him to turn his hearing aid on!'

  Sam rolled his eyes and sat down opposite the old man. He studied Harry a while, trying to imagine what life must have been like for Geoffrey Compton. Stuck at home most of the time. Looking forward to meeting up here with his friends. Sam supposed these places were a lifeline for such people.

  Sam tapped on Harry's newspaper. The old boy looked up in surprise. Sam put a finger to his ear.

  'Turn it up,' he mouthed.

  Harry nodded and began fiddling with his earpiece. Suddenly, whining feedback filled the air.

  'Bloody thing!' he complained.

  Sam smiled.

  'Can you hear me now?' he asked.

  'Yes, young man,' frowned Harry, 'but, please, there's no need to shout.'

  ***

  'I probably knew him longer than anyone here. About forty years, I would say.'

  Harry supped heartily on his pint. Having sorted out his hearing, he was now chatting away to Sam like a long-lost friend, and to Sam's mixed feelings, he could certainly talk.

  'Yeah, met him in here in the early seventies. He was already a regular then, had
been for many years. Everybody we knew back then has either passed on or moved away. I suppose that's life, isn't it? Did you say you're a relative?'

  'A family friend,' replied Sam. 'Although I hadn't seen him in a long time.'

  Harry nodded and drank another mouthful. Sam imagined his new companion was a lively one in his youth.

  'Yeah, well, people lose touch, don't they? Me and Geoffrey were both born and bred here in Newgate. Destined to spend our whole lives here, so we were. We had some good times, though. We used to go out as a foursome with our wives, dancing up town or taking in a film at the pictures.'

  Harry swished some drink around his mouth before swallowing it. Sam realised the old man was getting tipsy.

  'He was a good friend, was Geoffrey. A proud man who spoke his mind and didn't care what people thought. He had a temper on him, mind. He could fly off the handle just like that...'

  Harry tried clicking his fingers but missed. Sam got the point.

  'Did he make enemies because of it?'

  Harry shook his head sadly, stared out the window and murmured something indecipherable. Confusion had appeared on his face.

  'Harry, are you alright?'

  More shaking of the head. Disbelief in his eyes.

  'I still can't believe he took that way out...not Geoffrey...not like that...'

  Harry continued to gaze at nothing, struggling to comprehend the manner of his friend's passing.

  'Oi! I thought I told you not to upset anyone!'

  The barman had appeared next to the table. Arms folded, he stared at Sam in annoyance.

  It was clearly time to leave.

  ***

  Sam drove away mulling over his chat with Harry. He was so pre-occupied with his thoughts, he almost missed the fracas erupting outside Geoffrey's cottage. It was only the raised voices that caught his attention as he drove past. He looked in his rear-view mirror and saw a man confronting the same group of youngsters that had been there earlier. The kids weren't backing off. Insults were being traded. One of the taller youths stepped forward and shoved the man in the chest. Sam could see the situation was getting out of hand. He brought his car to a halt and stuck it in reverse.

  He stopped a few yards short of the commotion, where the unpleasant scene was deteriorating quickly. The man was being pushed backwards up Geoffrey's path, his eyes apprehensive as the youths taunted him. A fist suddenly shot out and missed his head by inches.

  Sam jumped out of the car.

  'Police!' he shouted.

  The youngsters turned in unison and glared at him. One or two had frenzied looks in their eyes. Some had lips curled up in snarls. All the faces dropped when they saw the badge Sam was holding up. Their fun was over.

  'Get out of here,' instructed Sam with quiet authority, slipping the badge back into his pocket, 'unless you want to end up in a cell tonight.'

  They shrugged their shoulders and trudged past him reluctantly. A couple of older lads stared at him as they passed. Sam stared back and held their gaze. The group ambled down the road, shouting half-hearted abuse. Sam ignored it, waited until they were out of sight, then turned his attention to the man. He was short and slim, about the same age as himself, early forties, with jet black hair and an easy-going face. Sam could see he was struggling to regain his composure.

  'Thanks, Officer,' he said weakly. 'Those kids are out of control.'

  'I'm not a policeman,' said Sam, 'but they don't know the difference between a PI's badge and a copper's. Not at a glance, anyway.'

  The two men smiled at each other. The stranger thrust out his hand.

  'My name's John Carr. I live next door.'

  Sam shook his hand. It was warm and clammy.

  'Pleased to meet you, John. I'm Sam Carlisle. Have that lot been causing you much bother?'

  John Carr nodded.

  'They've been hanging around here for six months or so, ever since the police barred them from the nearby park. They fight, drink, make a racket. They were throwing things at our window tonight. That's why I came out, to try and reason with them.'

  'Have you informed the police?'

  'Yeah,' sighed John. 'They come out, warn the kids and move them on. Then, a few days later, the kids are back and it starts all over-'

  'John! Are you okay?'

  A woman had appeared outside the house next door. She looked nervous and agitated.

  'Yes, I'm fine, Patricia. Just give me-'

  'Will you come back in now? Me and the kids were worried sick at you rushing out like that.'

  John turned to Sam.

  'I'd better go. Thanks again for stepping in.'

  Sam watched him go next door to re-join his family. He looked back at Geoffrey's cottage.

  A splattered egg was trickling down the window.

  ***

  When Sam returned to his flat, he went straight to his office, sat down behind the desk and pulled open the bottom drawer. He took out a half-bottle of whisky and unscrewed the cap. Drinking a mouthful, he wondered if Benjamin knew about the kids hanging outside his father's home. Sam would ask him tomorrow. Benjamin had invited him to the cottage to look around for anything that might have a bearing on his father's death.

  Sam took another drink and thought some more.

  Chapter 4

  The next morning was fine and bright. It was going to be another hot day. Sam nipped into the florists on his way out, where he found Moira busy trimming the bottom off a bunch of flowers. Today, she was resplendent in orange head scarf, bright yellow leggings and purple suede boots. She looked up and gave Sam a wide smile.

  'Morning, Sam. Are you off out?'

  'Yep,' nodded Sam. 'About those deliveries you wanted me to do today...'

  'Oh, don't worry about them. There's no rush. Anyway, you're a busy man right now.'

  She gave him a mischievous wink. Sam hadn't gone into detail about Benjamin Compton's phone call. Moira hadn't given him the chance, telling him client confidentiality was important in his line of work. Sam had smiled at her seriousness. As friendly as Moira was, she was no idle gossip.

  'I'll get round to them sometime today,' said Sam. 'I just don't know exactly when.'

  Moira placed the flowers carefully into a vase.

  'Go, will you,' she grinned, rubbing her hands on a towel. 'You're wasting time. Cases won't solve themselves, you know.'

  Sam laughed and did as he was told.

  ***

  Outside Geoffrey's cottage, Sam parked behind a gleaming Volvo Estate. The back seat of the car was crammed with cardboard boxes. Sam peered in. The nearest box was taped down and marked 'Ornaments'.

  Sam walked up the path and found the front door of the cottage wide open. He knocked on it, stepped back and gazed up and down the road. All was quiet this morning. No rowdy kids or harassed neighbours.

  Sam heard Benjamin call out from within the house, telling him to come through. He stepped into a long hallway, with old slate tiles on the floor and lime green wallpaper starting to peel on the wall. A strong, musty smell struck him. At the end of the hallway, he could see the kitchen. On his left were two doors. He popped his head around the first one.

  Benjamin was kneeling on the floor, taping the lid of a box down. He was wearing a white shirt, black trousers and plain black shoes. The top button of his shirt was undone, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up. Clearly, this was Benjamin dressing down. Sam watched him pick up a marker pen and write on the side of the box. More ornaments, apparently. With a satisfactory sigh, Benjamin nudged the box to one side, struggled to his feet and gave Sam a thin smile.

  'I'll put the kettle on,' he said.

  Sam followed him into the kitchen. It was an old-fashioned affair, in keeping with the rest of the property. For whatever reason, Geoffrey had been reluctant to modernise his home. Sam sat down on a stool and watched Benjamin fill the kettle up.

  'How's the packing going?' he asked.

  'Harder work than I imagined,' replied Benjamin, reaching for a c
ouple of mugs. 'My father wasn't the most organised person, and he hoarded too much rubbish. Nor was he keen on exposing the cottage to fresh air. I've had to open all the windows.'

  'I noticed the boxes in your car,' said Sam. 'What have you packed up so far?'

  Benjamin switched on the kettle. He looked tired and drawn. Dark circles ringed his eyes. Sam wondered how much Benjamin had slept last night.

  'Just ornaments. The place is full of them. They'll be going to a charity shop along with most of my father's things. Feel free to look through anything you want, anything you think might be of relevance.'

  'What are you doing about the house?'

  'It's going up for sale later this week.'

  'What about the proceeds?'

  Benjamin narrowed his eyes at Sam. It appeared he didn't like the question. Sam didn't divert his gaze. He was keen to see Benjamin's reaction.

  'It's going to be split between the great-grandchildren,' sighed Benjamin. 'That was what we all agreed.'

  Benjamin turned around to make the drinks.

  'And just in case you're wondering,' he continued, 'that wasn't a problem. I am more than comfortable financially, and so are my brother and sister-in-law.'

  'What about their children?'

  'The same.'

  Sam couldn't see Benjamin's face with his back turned. However, he felt pretty certain money wasn't a dividing issue with this family.

  'Look, Sam,' said Benjamin, swinging back round to hand Sam his tea. 'All the family have done well for themselves. None of us need the money. It makes sense to give the younger ones a helping start in life.'

  Sam detected an edginess in Benjamin's voice, as though he had been offended by the line of enquiry. Sam remained unperturbed. His job was to investigate. Sometimes that upset people.

  'I drove by here last night. There were a lot of youngsters hanging about.'

  Concern clouded Benjamin's face.

  'I know,' he nodded. 'I've had a few run-ins with them myself.'

  'Was your father intimidated by them at all?'