Death in July

by Michael Joseph

  Over half a century ago.

  Sam was under no illusions, that was a hell of a long time ago. There would be few people still alive from that time.

  Sam was stumped before he even began. Where was he to start? He knew from the funeral that none of Geoffrey's peers were still alive. Benjamin's father had outlived all his comrades down at the Ex-Servicemen's Club. There were no family or friends Sam could call on for bygone tales. No next door neighbours to reveal all about the youthful Geoffrey.

  What about Erica? Sam wondered if there was still anyone around who knew her from those days. Then he remembered something she had said at the wake, about a group of them knocking about together as youngsters. Herself, Marjorie and Geoffrey. There had been a couple of other names. Sam racked his brains, recalling one of the surnames had been unusual. Dunker. That was it. What was the first name? Bobby. No, Billy. That's right. Billy Dunker. Almost immediately, the second name came to him. Joe Sale. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

  Sam left Archie a message on his phone, picked up his car and drove back to his flat, where he washed and changed while waiting for the laptop to fire up. In the bathroom, he took the opportunity to inspect himself in the mirror. The cuts and bruises to his face were healing up nicely. The same couldn't be said for his leg. Although the pain was minimal this morning, the bruising on his thigh had spread, leaving an ugly hue of black and blue covering the top of his leg.

  Sam shrugged. As long as it didn't stop him getting about.

  On the laptop, he found the website for births, deaths and marriages in Newgate. While the basic information was free to view, the relevant certificate had to be purchased for more in-depth details. Sam tried the obvious one first. Billy Dunker. There couldn't be many with that moniker in the whole country, let alone Newgate.

  He wasn't wrong. The system brought up just one Billy Dunker. Born 1925. Married 1948. Died 2009. Well, that was straightforward. He tried Joe Sale next. The screen brought up hundreds of Joe Sales. Sam groaned. This was going to take some time.

  He worked his way through the list methodically, realising the task wasn't as horrendous as he first imagined. Erica had mentioned the group of friends were all in the same class together, and Sam knew that Geoffrey was born in 1925, so he could eliminate anyone born more than a year either side of that. Sam narrowed it down to seven, of which only two were still alive.

  Sam looked in the latest phone book. Experience had taught him elderly people were more inclined to maintain land-line phones. They also tended to be less likely to go ex-directory. Sam's summarisations were spot on. Two Joe Sales were listed, complete with addresses. He looked at his watch. Another few minutes and it would be a respectable time to go calling on strangers on a Sunday morning.

  Inspired by this minor progress, Sam went on an ancestry website, where he found Erica's family tree from her birthplace and date of birth. She had been an only child. Her father had no siblings, her mother just the one sister, Marjorie's mother. That meant no other cousins. Sam did the same with Geoffrey. The results were just as barren. No brothers and sisters. Three cousins, all deceased.

  Sam sighed at the findings. He knew it was a long shot, trying to hunt down clues so far back, limited to asking only those from the same generation as Geoffrey and Erica.

  There had to be someone out there who had answers.

  It was just a matter of finding them.

  ***

  The first property he called at was a pleasant semi-detached house overlooking a public park. On the drive stood a people carrier with all manner of child-friendly accessories littering the seats and windows. On the compact front lawn sat a discarded tricycle. Gazing up at the smaller bedroom window, Sam could make out curtains adorned with cartoon characters. Most definitely a house containing children.

  He knocked on the door, holding out little hope of finding the Joe Sale he was looking for. Nobody answered. No inquisitive children with too much energy to burn. No bleary-eyed parents with patience running thin.

  An elderly gentleman came out of the house next door and loaded golf clubs into the back of his estate car. Noticing Sam looking at a loss, the neighbour told him the family were out. The parents liked to take their three young children out every Sunday on a day trip, making the most of the fine summer weather. Sam asked about Joe Sale. The man shook his head, informing him Joe had moved permanently into a care home some months ago. That sounded promising until he added Joe had only returned to Newgate a couple of years ago. He had moved away with his family when he was just six years old, living at the other end of the country until his recent return.

  That ruled one lead out.

  The other address he had was on the outskirts of Newgate, where the pleasant suburbs changed to tranquil countryside. He found the property, a secluded cottage, tucked away at the bottom of a narrow, winding lane. Access right up to the cottage was denied by a battered old Range Rover parked haphazardly across the lane, forcing Sam to leave his car behind it and walk the rest of the way. As he set off on the short walk, the sun appeared from behind the clouds. Suddenly, the countryside around him seemed to spring into life. Birds started calling high above him, while the bright sunshine accentuated the array of vivid colours nestling amongst the shrubbery. Sam thought the serene location an ideal spot to get away from it all.

  The cottage itself didn't quite match up to the idyllic surroundings. The front garden was unkept, the grass either side of the path almost knee height. The gate was hanging loosely off its hinges, the old wooden window frames were starting to rot away, and the front door badly needed a fresh coat of paint. As with the previous property, Sam got no reply when he rapped on the door. Thick grey curtains were drawn across the front window, blocking any view into the living area. Sam took a wander around both sides of the cottage, noticing an overgrown vegetable patch and discarded planks of wood. A rusting motorbike, partially covered by a dirty tarpaulin, stood forsaken on the grass. A fence ran along both sides of the cottage, preventing any access to the back garden. Disgruntled, Sam returned to the car. He had just climbed inside when he spotted the twitch of a curtain in one of the cottage's upstairs windows. Sam smiled and got back out. Not everyone wanted to get up at the crack of dawn on a Sunday.

  He returned up the path and gave the door another lively rasp. It took time, but eventually a man answered, a hammer in his hand and an impatient look on his face.

  'Yes?'

  Sam studied the man. He was slightly younger than Sam, in his thirties, with a mop of black curly hair and a tanned face. He was just shy of six foot tall, with a lean, wiry frame and muscular forearms. A man used to toiling outdoors, not afraid of hard work. He was wearing a paint-splattered t-shirt and scruffy jeans that hung off his waist.

  Sam took a step forward.

  'Sorry to bother you, mate. I'm looking for a Joe Sale.'

  'You've found him. What do you want?'

  Sam was struck by a feeling of deja-vu. This man was far too young. Another dead end.

  'I was looking for someone older, a man in his eighties. It's obviously not-'

  'That'll be my grandfather. I was named after him. He died a couple of weeks ago. What did you want with him?'

  A couple of weeks? Sam sighed. So close again. Perhaps that's why the death hadn't been recorded yet. It was too recent.

  'A friend of his passed away recently. The family asked me to let people know. Apparently, your grandfather and her were-'

  'Her?'

  'Yes, a lady called Erica Wright. She was in this country for the funeral of another friend, Geoffrey Compton, when she had a heart attack. The three of them-'

  'Never heard of them,' said Joe Sale Jr curtly. 'Not that it matters now the old man has passed on.'

  'Your grandfather never mentioned them?'

  'No, he didn't. Now, if that's it, I've got work to be getting back to...'

  Joe took a step back and started to shut the door. Sam saw his one and only lead slipping away.

/>   'Hold on, Mr Sale. Just one more question.'

  Joe didn't look particularly enamoured at being kept from his work.

  'What is it?' he snapped.

  'Can I ask how your grandfather died?'

  Joe Sale gave Sam an incredulous look.

  'What business-'

  'Look, I know it's a personal question,' said Sam, trying to placate the man. 'I don't mean to-'

  'A bit personal?' cried Joe, looking angry now. 'Who do you think you are coming here asking stuff like that? If you must know, my grandfather died in his sleep. I held his hand as he took his last breath. Now, get away from here before I-'

  Sam held his hands up.

  'Okay, I'm going. I never meant-'

  The door was slammed in his face.

  Sam got back into his car and stewed for some time. He knew he had pushed that one too far, so desperate had he been to make the most of his final opportunity. Now, with no more names to chase down, he felt as though he had truly hit a brick wall.

  ***

  On his way back to his flat, Sam took a lengthy detour. He drove past Geoffrey's cottage and noticed a For Sale board had been erected outside during the weekend. He carried on to the Ex-Servicemen's Club, where he saw Geoffrey's old friend, Harry, walking in through the door.

  Life carries on, mused Sam.

  Then he drove to Benjamin's place, cruising past the bungalow, noting the Volvo was nowhere to be seen. Sam presumed Benjamin was out seeing his brother back off to Scotland. On he continued, touring the places he had visited since the day Benjamin walked into his office, trying to conjure up some small clue he might have missed. Anything that might jog his memory. His journey took in the hotels in which Arnold and Erica had stayed, even Moira's apartment, her flower shop, the Barton Arms pub. Finally, he set off for the cemetery.

  It seemed a fitting place to watch a case die a slow death.

  Sam parked in exactly the same spot he had on the day of the funeral. The sun was high in the sky now, the scorching heat beating down on the cemetery, a complete contrast to the fierce storm that had accompanied Geoffrey's burial. Sam walked past the church and headed for Geoffrey's grave. He stood there for a few moments, paying his respects to someone he never knew in life. Gazing at the fresh pile of earth, Sam found himself muttering to a man who would never hear him.

  'Come on, Geoffrey. Help me out here.'

  Sam moved on, re-tracing his steps around the perimeter of the cemetery. He came to a halt at the bottom of the slight hill, re-living the frantic tumble back down the incline and the resulting collision with the tree. Sam gazed around him and sighed, recalling just how close he had come to apprehending the man behind this mystery. He had laid hands on him, tussled with him. It was looking unlikely he would get such a chance again.

  Sam kicked the ground in frustration, sending a clump of turf flying through the air. He watched it land on the grass a few feet away, next to a beige-coloured piece of paper. Curious, he went over to take a closer look. The sheet of paper was dirty but still relatively fresh looking. He bent down and picked it up. Written on it was a list of some kind, scrawled in black ink. Sam found the writing practically illegible. Damp had caused the ink to run in places, while muddy smears made it difficult to pick out the words. Sam held the sheet of paper up to the light and squinted hard. Only one word was clearly decipherable.

  But it was one he recognised.

  Dunker.

  Sam tucked the piece of paper carefully into his pocket and gazed in the general direction of Geoffrey Compton's grave.

  'Thanks for listening, Geoffrey.'

  ***

  Sam returned to his flat to find DI Jackson waiting outside for him, hands in pockets, slouched on the bonnet of his modest saloon car. The detective's languid pose reminded Sam of himself years ago, before he moved to undercover. The laid-back attitude. The lack of airs and graces. The way it lured others into a false sense of confidence.

  'Have you got some news?' asked Sam, getting out of his car.

  The serious look on the detective's face didn't bode well. Sam thought of Alice and feared the worst.

  'Yes, I've got news,' replied Jackson. 'Let's talk in your flat.'

  Sam took him into the living-room this time. Both men took a seat, with Sam perched right on the edge of his chair, waiting impatiently for Jackson to commence. When the detective spoke, his words weren't what Sam expected.

  'There's been a complaint made against you.'

  Sam had lost count of the number of times he had been hauled into his superior's office while a detective. He had always worked on the edge, in a shady area where investigative procedures were more questionable. That dubious ability meant he flourished following his transfer into the murky world of undercover. It also resulted in even more complaints, mainly from colleagues bemoaning his unorthodox methods. Sam cared little for protocol, and he wasn't going to change now just because he was working in the private sector.

  However, this time he shook his head, puzzled. He didn't know what Jackson was on about.

  'Apparently, you were snooping around-'

  Then it came to him.

  'Oh, you mean Joe Sale's place?'

  'That's it,' nodded Jackson. 'Mr Sale isn't a very happy man. He said you wandered around his property and hassled him about his recently deceased grandfather.'

  Sam looked out the window. The sun was burning fiercely now.

  'How did you know it was me?' he asked.

  'We traced the car registration number. So, what's the story?'

  Sam thought back to earlier that morning. He couldn't deny he had been pretty intense. Desperate, almost.

  'I was investigating a case.'

  'Would you like to elaborate on that a bit further?'

  Sam actually gave serious thought to doing just that. Jackson seemed a reasonable guy. It was most likely he would treat Sam's suspicions about the two deaths seriously. However, the threat to Benjamin was too realistic. He couldn't take the chance.

  'No can do,' he replied. 'Client confidentiality, I'm afraid.'

  Jackson studied Sam with a thin smile. His curiosity was apparent. However, both men knew the score. A crime hadn't been committed, therefore Sam didn't have to give up anything.

  'Okay, Sam, we'll leave it at that. But, please, stay away from Joe Sale's home.'

  Sam gave him a contrite look.

  'No need to worry, Detective. I've got no intention of going back there. Now, what's this news you've got?'

  Jackson pulled a face.

  'Richard Brown was spotted this morning...well, more than spotted...he was chased...'

  'Come again?'

  'Patrol officers saw him in a car...a stolen car...a mile or so from the Barton Arms. Brown lost them when he ditched the car and started running.'

  'Where was he last seen?' asked Sam.

  'Along the beachfront,' sighed Jackson, exasperated. 'He mingled in with the crowds and that was it...he was gone. Our man is proving to be one difficult individual to pin down.'

  Sam thought of his own futile endeavours recently.

  He knew exactly how the detective felt.

  Chapter 21

  As soon as Jackson left, Sam retrieved the piece of paper from his jacket pocket and went into his office. He laid the sheet out on his desk and studied it. A list, spread over six lines. Two words per line. Dunker was the second word on one of the lines. That had to be Billy Dunker. Sam presumed the rest were also names.

  Six names on a piece of paper.

  A piece of paper found where Sam had grappled with the man. They had hit the floor and rolled uncontrollably. The sheet must have fallen out of the man's pocket during the tussle. Both of them had left the scene unaware.

  He scrutinised the paper closer.

  One name.

  Five to go.

  The combination of dried mud and blurred ink meant he could only pick out odd letters. It was like a puzzle game. Fill in the blanks. Two of the names began with th
e letter G. Sam had to presume one of them was Geoffrey's name. If that was the case, he had the names of two deceased men in Newgate. The last entry in the list was almost entirely covered by mud. Sam figured that could be Erica Wright's name, which would make three of the group of friends. Sam looked at the available letters again and shook his head. Marjorie's name didn't fit any of them. Still, he appeared to have in his hands a list of local people, all from the same generation. It gave Sam the creeps. He needed to find out more, but from where?

  School.

  They had all been in the same class. He could match the random letters off this piece of paper with the names in a school photo. He gave Benjamin a ring on his mobile.

  'Benjamin, which school did your father go to?'

  Sam could hear intrigue in Benjamin's voice. The bluntness and energy of the call had taken him by surprise.

  'He went to St Josephs. It was one whole school then. Infants, Juniors and Seniors. It's still there today. Why are you-'

  'No time, Benjamin. I'll be in touch.'

  Sam got on the internet and discovered St Josephs Secondary had their own website. The school proudly proclaimed itself the oldest educational establishment still standing in Newgate, but there was little else about its history on the site. There were no class photos. No stories from yesteryear told by former students. Perhaps it was a security thing. Sam wasn't giving in. There had to be something.

  He noticed a list of contacts and gave the school secretary a ring, holding out little hope for an answer. How many school secretaries went in on a Sunday?

  Well, this one did.

  St Josephs' secretary answered the phone with a jaunty tilt in her voice, as though she was constantly on the verge of laughter. The school had just broken up for the summer holidays, and she was in tying up a few loose ends before the long break. Sam explained who he was and told her he was tracing someone's family ancestry. To his surprise, she told him she might be able to help.