‘If he dead, man, I wanna shake de killer’s hand.’
‘It’s not Sammy Marsh who is the victim – it’s someone else.’
‘Me no know. Lot of people want dat man out of der hair. He was an informer, you hear me? I get picked up and I done nuthin. Fuckin’ stitched me up, man.’
Helen tapped Paul’s knee beneath the table. He was becoming so agitated and she wanted to have a try.
‘Errol, we are here asking for your help. We are not connected to any Drug Squad. We are just trying to trace this man.’ She pushed Alan’s photograph forward again. ‘We believe that he is a murder victim and we are simply asking if you knew him.’
She then moved the group shot of the surfers across the table. ‘We also need to identify these men with our victim. We know that Sammy took this photograph because his studio stamp is on the back of it.’
Errol kissed his gold-capped teeth again.
‘Him long gone, lady.’
‘Yes, we know that, but could you give us any other contact from Cornwall who might know who these people are?’
‘He was a piece of shit. He hadda finger me. They come to my woman’s place in Brixton. Cornwall is a shit-’ole, stinking rain every day.’
‘Well, maybe you should try and help us get Sammy back – pay day, and if you help us we can talk to the Governor here . . .’
‘I dunno where he is, lady.’
‘But you know people in Cornwall that knew him – right?’
He nodded and sucked his teeth again.
‘Me no inform on ’im, even though ’im a pussy-’ole.’
Paul gave an exasperated sigh. He was so tense he wanted to reach across the table and punch Errol. Helen gave him a look, warning him to stay calm, but he took no notice.
‘If you say he tipped off the cops about you, what’s it to you?’ he snapped.
‘A lot, brother, a fuckin’ lot. That’s all I’m sayin’. He’s a batty man like a mean prancin’ lickle shite.’
‘He’s a what?’ Helen asked, incredulous.
‘Let’s just say he’d not screw you, woman.’
‘So you are not going to help us even though we’re saying that if you do we can help you?’ Helen battled on.
‘G’way! Yuh no pull ma strings.’
Tight-lipped, Paul picked up the photographs. ‘Well, then we’ll just encourage the powers-that-be to send you back to Kingston, Errol. It’s on the cards – you know that. You’ve got no right to even be in this country.’
‘I’m gettin’ married so you can’t diss me, brother.’
‘Who to – the mother of your fifteen kids?’
Errol gave a wide grin and laughed. ‘Na, but she ain’t no juvie either. I’m gonna have a legit reason to be in this country so I am not helpin’ nobody to come out and slit me throat.’ He jabbed the air with a thick filthy finger. ‘You git outta ma face. I not talkin’ no more.’
That was it. Paul stood up and replaced the photographs in the file. He looked to Helen and then crossed to knock on the interview door for the guard to open it. Errol turned and grinned.
Helen hurried to join Paul. The interview was over, but they still had to speak to the Governor, who informed them that Errol had requested permission to marry whilst he served his sentence, as his girlfriend was pregnant. The Governor at first refused to give any details, claiming it was against regulations, but he brought out Errol’s prison files, then left the office, giving the excuse that he needed a moment to speak to someone. Paul grabbed the opportunity to have a look at the request for a marriage licence. Helen was stunned to see him act very fast, jotting down the name and address of Errol’s intended. He was back in his seat by the time the Governor returned.
‘Everything all right, Detective Simms?’
‘Yes. Thank you for your time and for arranging our interview with Mr Dante.’ They shook hands.
As they drove out of the prison gates Paul started to relax.
‘Her name is Sandra-Dee Fallow; address in Brixton.’
‘That was a bit naughty,’ Helen observed.
‘Yeah well, that bastard wouldn’t give it up. The Governor, thank God, was more cooperative. Let’s go and see her now.’
Anna waited as Brian Stanley removed the computer from the Rawlinses’ house along with the magazines. Rose had glanced over the list of items Anna had written down for her to sign and show Mr Rawlins on his return home. Anna also asked if she knew if anyone had taken anything from Alan’s bedroom and office, but the carer said that she had never even been up the stairs.
‘Has something bad happened?’
Anna watched her sign the release form.
‘Their son is still missing.’
‘I know that, but I mean since?’
Anna looked surprised. ‘How do you mean?’
‘Well, it’s not my business, but Mr Rawlins has asked me to talk to the social services to find a home for Kathleen. He wants her to go in as soon as possible. It’ll affect her badly. At least here she sort of knows where she is, and to change her environment will make her very distressed.’
‘I didn’t know. It will obviously be a very private matter between them.’
‘Yes, of course. It’s sad though, isn’t it? Yesterday she was certain that Alan had come home.’
‘Why?’
‘She could hear him, she said, moving across the ceiling. He used to stay in the rooms above hers. She said he was back home.’
‘Did Mr Rawlins go up there?’
‘I don’t know. He was at home so maybe he did. I didn’t hear anything, though.’
Anna was about to walk out when she paused. ‘Have the rubbish bins been collected at all?’
‘I don’t know when the binmen come.’
‘Are the bins out by the kitchen?’
‘Yes, just beside the back door. There’s three wheelies, but we really only ever use one.’
‘Thank you.’
Anna hurried into the kitchen, opening the back door to find that the bins were lined up as Rose had said. She opened one, which smelled of urine and stale food. She shut the lid and tried the second. She looked inside to see a black bin liner tied very tightly. There was no rotting food stench so she lifted the bag out. Untying the knot she looked inside and saw it was filled with magazines and more DVDs similar to the ones found in Alan’s room. She retied the knot and carried it back into the house.
‘We’re taking this as well, Brian. Are we all set to leave?’
‘Yep. I’ll get the computer over to Tech Support and see what they get from it. What’s in the bag?’
‘You’ll enjoy sifting through it all back at the station.’
‘What is it?’
‘Wait and see.’
Heading towards her car, Anna was unsure how she felt about the nursing home for Kathleen and the fact that Mr Rawlins must have opened up the drawer to remove the pornographic magazines and DVDs. He obviously was unable to get access to the drawer that had taken her so much time to open. She sighed. Poor man. His beloved son goes missing, then he finds out he wasn’t his biological child, and then he uncovers further details about his blue-eyed boy that he probably would have preferred not to have known. But did he also remove evidence? She knew she would have to question him again, but the next time she wouldn’t be quite so accommodating.
Paul and Helen were at a highrise council estate in Brixton where flat number thirty-four looked in disrepair. The side window by the front door was boarded up, the letter box had a plank of wood nailed across it and the door itself looked as if it had been kicked in numerous times. They rang the bell, but it didn’t work, and then Paul hammered with his fist. Eventually the door was inched open with the chain still attached. A bleached-blonde woman peered out asking what they wanted. Paul showed his ID and asked if he could talk to Sandra-Dee Fallow.
‘Whatcha want to see her for?’
‘Are you Sandra-Dee Fallow? We’ve been to see Errol and he gave us your address.’
The safety chain was removed and the door opened wider.
‘First off, it’s just Sandra, so lay off the Dee bit, I fucking hate it! Mother gave me the name after that stupid song in the film Grease . . . “Look at me, I’m Sandra bloody Dee”, she said in a mocking childlike voice.
‘We need to talk to you, Sandra, it won’t take long,’ Helen said, smiling.
Sandra opened the door further and glared at them. ‘What you want to talk to me about?’
‘Could we please come in, Sandra?’ Helen said pleasantly.
The woman stepped back, allowing them to walk in. Helen went in first with Paul following.
‘I was lying down. I’ve been ever so sick.’
Sandra was also very pregnant. She was wearing a short nightdress with a sweater pulled over it, and her belly stuck out.
‘I think it was some curry I had last night – got terrible heartburn.’
She led them along a filthy hallway to an equally dirty room with no carpet and broken furniture. There were also a number of toys and a pushchair.
‘You have children?’ Helen asked.
‘Yeah.’Cos I was so sick they’re wiv me neighbour. She’s ever so good.’ She had an inch of dark growth in her bleached hair and was around thirty, but she was still a very pretty woman with a round face and full lips. Her eyes were dark with thick lashes that looked as if she just continued to apply black mascara on a daily basis without ever removing any, making it seem as if she had panda eyes.
‘How many children do you have?’ Helen continued.
‘Two, boy and a girl. If it wasn’t for the social services helping me out they’d be in foster homes. Their dad’s not around. Dunno where he is and I hope he rots in hell.’
‘So you’re married?’ Paul asked.
‘Nah. You want to sit down?’
They sat on a bow-legged sofa amongst Barbie dolls and tractors, and Sandra sat in a sagging armchair.
‘You are engaged to marry Errol Dante, aren’t you?’ Paul took a plastic truck out of his back.
‘Yeah. This one is his.’ She rubbed her stomach.
‘How long have you known him?’
‘About a year or so. What’s this about?’
‘We are investigating a missing person and we have some photographs we wanted to show you from when Errol was in Cornwall.’ Helen kept her voice very quiet and relaxed.
‘Yeah, that’s where I met him. I used to work as a waitress. In fact, I wish I’d never left to end up in this dump. I had a nice rented caravan there.’
‘So when Errol left Cornwall you came with him?’
‘Well, not exactly. He came to London before me and then I packed up everythin’ to be with him.’
‘How many months gone are you?’ Helen asked.
‘Seven. Feels like a year, I’m tellin’ you. I wasn’t like this with me others.’ She puffed out her cheeks.
‘Would you mind looking at some photographs to see if you recognise anyone on them?’ Paul opened his briefcase.
‘Yeah. Is this to do with that little bastard Sammy Marsh?’
Paul glanced at Helen.
‘It is actually, because we know he took the photograph . . . this one.’ Paul passed over the photograph with the surfers.
Sandra peered at it and then pulled a face. ‘Nah, dunno them.’ She turned it over in her hand to look at the studio watermark print.
‘We reckon that Sammy tipped off the cops about Errol and that’s why they picked him up.’
‘But Sammy has disappeared, hasn’t he?’
‘We believe so,’ Helen said, passing the photograph back to Paul.
‘Is it him what’s missing? ’Cos I know a lotta people would like to strangle him. He was a really nasty little sod.’
‘Errol shared a flat with him, didn’t he?’
‘I wouldn’t call it sharin’. He dossed down on his floor then we met and he moved in wiv me and the kids.’
‘Can you look at this photograph?’
Paul now passed her the single shot of Alan with his surfboard. Again Sandra gave it a good look-over, but shook her head.
‘I didn’t really mix wiv them.’
‘There’s a café called the Smugglers . . .’
She leaned forward. ‘Which one? There’s quite a few called the same name. The one in Newquay is very nice, and then some are a bit cheap, know what I mean – summer openers. They close ’em down for winter.’ She jabbed her finger at the photograph. ‘Yeah, that’s where I worked.’
‘Did a lot of the surfers use it?’
‘Yeah. It’s right on the beach and open all hours.’
‘Do they do drugs there?’
‘They do everythin’ – it’s a bit of a rough place. Sammy used to be kingpin. He could get you anythin’ you wanted.’
‘And you never saw any one of these guys in the café?’
The young woman shifted uncomfortably. ‘Me back is killin’ me,’ she said. ‘I think if you don’t mind you should leave.’
‘Just take another look, love. We really appreciate this,’ Helen said encouragingly.
Sandra suddenly became cagey, shaking her head. ‘I’m not getting into anything, not in the state I’m in. I’ve said enough. I don’t want no trouble.’
‘Do you think you would get into trouble?’ Paul said.
‘I could, and I’m not wanting to start yakking on about any connections to Sammy. He’s someone you don’t mess with and I got to look out for Errol and the kids.’
‘Is he looking out for you?’
‘Yes, he fuckin’ is. At least he’s gonna marry me, said he’s gonna take good care of me when he gets out.’
‘I hope he keeps his word. He has fifteen other children, did you know that?’ Paul replaced the photograph into his briefcase.
‘You are fucking joking, ain’t ya!’ she gasped. ‘He’s got no others.’
‘You sure he’s not just using you to be able to try and stay in the country?’ Helen wished Paul hadn’t been so abrasive.
Sandra heaved herself upright. ‘I want you to go. Go on, both of you!’
‘He’s an illegal immigrant, love. The judge recommended him for deportation.’
The girl pursed her lips and then flopped back down again. Paul was unsure how to proceed, but Helen moved to stand by Sandra.
‘Can I get you a glass of water, love?’
‘Yeah. In the kitchen there’s some bottles in the fridge. Thanks.’
She closed her eyes. ‘To be honest, you know what? I don’t care any more. If what you say is true, where does that leave me?’
Helen returned with an open bottle of water and handed it to Sandra, who sipped and then burped loudly.
‘There’s no way I should’ve had that curry,’ she hiccuped.
Helen stood by her and patted her shoulder.
‘Could you just have another look at the photographs, love? The person missing is this blonde guy, the one in the middle. It’s nothing to do with Sammy Marsh, we’re not interested in him.’
Sandra held out her hand for the photograph again.
‘I dunno, Sammy is such a bastard,’ she mumbled.
‘How well did you know him?’
‘I didn’t. I kept well out of his way, but like I said, he was a sort of kingpin with these surfer guys. They like to get stoned or coked up.’
She looked at the photograph again.
‘Yeah.’ Then she passed it back up to Helen and took a drink from the bottle of water.
‘What do you mean, yeah?’ Helen asked.
‘I seen him. Don’t know him, but he used to be in the Smugglers. Got a real fancy car. Sammy was often with him. You know he’s a poof, don’t ya?’
‘Sammy?’
‘Yeah. These guys are all muscle and suntanned. They were sort of a clique, if you know what I mean. Acted like they was above everyone else and . . .’ She sighed. ‘Sammy used Errol ’cos of his size, like a henchman so nobody messed with him. Th
at’s all I know. It’s the God’s truth.’
Paul took the photograph from Helen.
‘Do you know if this man, the blonde guy in the middle, was also a homosexual?’
Sandra shrugged and took a gulp of water. ‘He was very friendly with Sammy so he could be one of ’em.’
‘Did you ever see him use drugs?’
‘Nah, I told you. I didn’t get into any of that.’
‘But Errol was involved—’ Paul began, but he was interrupted.
‘He’s no fuckin’ poof, he got me up the spout. I’m gettin’ tired of all this. I’m gonna go and lie down.’ Sandra hoisted herself out of the chair and gestured for them to get out. As they went into the hall she asked rather plaintively if it was true.
‘What’s true, Sandra?’
‘That Errol’s got fifteen other kids?’
‘You should ask him. That’s what we were told, but let him tell you himself.’
Sandra opened the front door.
‘I’m sick of it all,’ she said tiredly. ‘Sick to death of people lying to me. You’d think by now I’d be old enough to know better.’
Paul walked out ahead of Helen, who remained a moment with Sandra.
‘We really appreciate you taking the time to talk to us.’
‘That’s okay.’
‘It looks as if you’ve had a few unpleasant callers . . . your door has been kicked in.’
‘Yeah. When they come for Errol they almost kicked it right off its hinges. I stuck that board over my letterbox to stop getting the fucking junk mail.’
‘Thank you again, love. I hope it all goes well with the birth. Just one more thing . . . you described a flashy car driven by the man in the photograph. Can you think what colour it was, soft top or hard top, modern or . . .’
‘I dunno. It was low down with the roof off. Dunno what make it was, but it was silver-ish.’
As Helen left, Sandra hooked the safety chain across the door.
Paul was very quiet as they drove back to the station. Helen had suggested they stop off and get a bite to eat, but he had refused, saying they should get the new information back to the incident room.
‘Okay by me,’ Helen agreed. ‘Do you think Sandra was straight with us?’
‘You want my honest opinion?’
‘Yes, of course.’
Blood Line Page 17