Once upon a Spook (The Spooks series Book 1)

by Gary Tulley

  “Oh, and one other thing my friend, before I forget.” Eastern added. “In the event that Dowling should make an appearance, I need to be the first to know…right?”

  Once inside the flat, Eastern lost no time in getting busy. Almost immediately, his eyes fell on a phone in the sparsely fitted lounge. Like a magnet it drew him in. His main interest then became focused on a note pad that lay beside it. Flicking systematically through the pages, it soon became apparent that one contact number in particular remained prominent, which, in turn, encompassed various dates and ‘meet’ times. The information was then secreted internally via his mobile. The dates themselves he noted stretched back some three months previous. In each case, two words ‘must contact’ were affixed, and plainly highlighted by means of underlining. The exposed top page then came under a secondary scrutiny, as further possible information caught his attention. Further investigation revealed that there were signs of heavy indentation. This he deduced was made from a previously written note or letter. Pocketing the page in question, he then made his way into the bedroom. Based on past experience aligned with the case history, had left Eastern in no doubts, as to what he could possibly expect to find once inside.

  One wall in particular screamed out for intense examination, if only for pure unadulterated interest. From floor to ceiling, the entire area resembling a huge tabloid collateral consisting of unlimited press cuttings, mainly dating back to Dowling’s late father’s trial, and the aftermath relating to the latter’s suicide. On a spar, and to his rising alarm, Eastern couldn’t fail to spot a gallery of recognisable photos, portraying the Conway family. It soon became clear to him that they had been taken in recent months.

  Time was running short, Eastern felt convinced now that he’d seen enough, leaving any conclusions he may have held for a later date. Armed with the required information, he once again pursued the caretaker. “It was nice doing business with you, here’s the key, and remember if you ever need another broom…phone me.”

  Once installed in his own flat, Eastern lost no time in contacting DC Curtis. “Johnnie? Yeah, it’s Mike. Listen, I’ve been privy to some information that could be of vital interest in the Dowling saga. If my hunch is right, it could turn the whole case on its head if it’s kosher of course. But it will mean getting forensics involved to make that happen…what d’ye say?”

  Thinking and believing is one matter, attempting to convince somebody that your theory holds water is another league apart. As usual, Curtis became the ‘fall guy’ and reluctantly caved in.

  “This is the last time Mike, if I was a bleedin’ cat I’d have more lives than a litter. I just hope that for your sake, you get a result.” The combined smile and relief registered on Eastern’s face, as he replaced it own, said it all.

  Having rested his case, he sat back and mulled over his belief that the notepaper he’d managed to purloin from Dowling’s face did indeed contain a link between the latter and the would-be whistleblower. “If my logic is right,” he told himself, “then the feedback arising from the information would become priceless by exposing a conspiracy scam on the one hand, and on the other, blow the whistleblower’s integrity clean out of the water in knowing he’s the chief witness for the Crown prosecution. In spite of DCI Conway’s emerging guilt in the scenario.”

  Confident as he could be, Eastern wisely bowed to supposition by concluding: “Who gives a toss anyway? It won’t be over until the ‘fat lady sings’ anyway.” Except to say that the ‘lady’ in this particular case, could well be the edged Crown witness. At least wheels were now turning on his behalf. Although the legal wheels it was fair to say, held the advantage on impetus, manifested by the local ‘Clarion’, that evening. The statement that was issued revolved around a trial date, set for five weeks’ time and deriving from a second hearing, bail was once again formally rejected per se.

  It’s true to say, that midway between dicing with breakfast ‘B’ in the ‘OVERDONE RASHER’, any form of interruption would well have been classed as a reprieve. In Eastern’s case, it came via an impromptu call on his mobile some 48 hours later. “Thank Christ for that!” he told himself, “I swear that bacon I’ve just eaten originated from a rhino’s arse. Hi Johnnie, what’s occurring mate? I could use something kosher right now.”

  “As it happens,” came back the reply. “This could be your lucky day Mike. As we speak, I’m looking at the forensic report on that notepaper you sent to me…very interesting. You know me mate, I can be a cynical bastard when I have to be at the best of times. And for that reason, coincidences tend to me to be a reality.” Eastern tightened his grip on his mobile in anticipation of the result.

  “I could use anything right now, saying that, what have you got for me?”

  “Bit of a mixed bag as it goes Mike. But get this, the report itself highlights the fact that they’ve managed to expose a set of initials.” For a second Eastern was lost for words as he struggled to contain himself and the mere thought that his scam theory at one point could be found hovering on conjecture on his part now released visible signs that just maybe he’d got it right all along.

  “No shit, and I wager they could tell a story.” He was hedging somewhat, to hopefully cloud over his relief.

  “Yeah, right! Exactly my sentiments Mike. So, naturally, I did a bit of digging around myself.”

  “And?”

  “Would you believe that the initials in question corresponded with those of the whistleblower when matched? Try getting that around your head.” A sustained silence ensued as Eastern gathered his thoughts. “Mike, hello? Are you there Mike? I was just…”

  “Yeah…sorry mate.” Eastern cut in. “Fucksake! I knew I was on to something big. Everything seems to be falling into place.”

  “Based on what’s available, I have to agree Mike. But why do I get the feeling that you know something I don’t? At worse let me consider what you’ve got.” Eastern kept talking long enough to accept the fact that his half eaten breakfast was now cold.

  “That has to be a result in itself,” he grated. Curtis then readily brought him back down to earth.

  “That’s one hell of an assumption mate, and I can’t fault your logic behind it…”

  “But proving it, is something else…I know.” Eastern interjected. “But trust me, I’ll give it my best shot. In the meantime, I still have that suspect phone number belonging to Dowling that I need to check out. So until I know different, it’s anybody’s guess. I’ll be in touch.” His thoughts were then scuttled as Benny the proprietor began to hover.

  “You gotta problem Mike? You’ve left more than you’ve eaten.”

  “Problem? Not as big as yours is Benny,” and he looked at the bacon. “I recommend you get yourself a good brief, I’ve had it on good authority that there’s a half demented rhino on the loose with half its poxy arse missing…know what I mean?” Shelving his mobile while grinning like a Cheshire cat, Eastern made his way out of the café, leaving Benny with his thought for the day.

  CHAPTER VIII…An unexpected ‘accident’

  Eastern decided to hang on for as long as he could. Unfortunately, his mobile had other ideas and refused to play ball. “Damn!” he expressed along with his concern and frustration. “Could be that she’s driving,” he consoled himself. “I’ll text Joan a message anyway.”

  Hi Joan it’s important that we meet up tonight say at yours about 8. Dinner’s on me.

  Relaxing in a ‘his and hers’ cubicle while in a renowned restaurant with a client that would grace any catwalk with a wedge (roll of money) later on that same evening resulted in a business therapy he could only have dreamt about two months previous. “Please God it’s infectious, I could get used to this,” became one channel of thought, until an impromptu vision of the ‘OVERDONE RASHER’ attempted to make a guest appearance by gate crashing his space.

  The feral illusion, swiftly evaporated into oblivion, due to the presence of a large medium cooked ‘T’ bone steak delicate
ly placed in front of him. From then on, a cocktail of culinary delights and business acumen, made for a successful evening and terminated afterwards at Joan’s retreat in Brunswick Square, over a late coffee. The quality of their conversation ranged from possible case scenarios to an outspoken admission by Joan regarding her personal life.

  “As I stated before Joan, if I can establish a concrete link between Dowling and the Crown witness, the police will be forced to accept my theory. Hopefully by making a case, they will have enough information to arrest Dowling. Then we can all relax, and you especially can move on, in knowing that you’ll then be safe.”

  “Tomorrow won’t be soon enough for me Mike. Incidentally I’ve arranged an appointment with my solicitor on Tuesday. I’ve decided to file for divorce. My life until now has been a complete and utter sham, I just want out.” Eastern hid his welcome relief at her admission behind a discreet smile before speaking.

  “Under the circumstances, it shouldn’t be a long and drawn out case. But, we wouldn’t want to mar a good night by debating that.” They continued to exchange pleasantries into the early hours, before Eastern rang for a cab. But not before another dinner date became a statistic. Only this time, it would strictly enhance pleasure.

  The following morning, Eastern could be found up and about, and ready to ‘kick arse’, Even Benny’s tea had that certain je ne sais quois taste about it , which was more than Eastern could say for the ‘OVERDONE RASHER’. Monday morning dawned and yours truly could be found rapt in concentration as he studied the alien phone number he’d retrieved from Dowling’s flat. The correlation surrounding the digits seemed to hypnotise him somewhat as he struggled to make some leeway into discovering the possibilities that lay behind them.

  It wasn’t as if the random numbers were going anywhere, unfortunately that was the crux of the matter. “If only you babies could talk,” he muttered, in a disconsolate vein. “That way we can all go home.” As an interested observer it was left to Benny to intervene and hopefully call time on any wishful thinking.

  “Look at yer, grief and more grief…I dunno why you don’t get yourself a 9 to 5 job like everybody else.” In the end, Benny’s prime intervention proved to be a good call. Mike Eastern had heard and seen enough, the urge to get busy far outweighed the prospect of downing another alleged coffee.

  “Yeah, yeah, you’re right of course mate. That way, I wouldn’t have to put my solicitor on hold every time I want to come in here to eat… I’ll see you around.” Smiling broadly he exited the café, consumed with the air akin to a man on a mission. It was local, it was certainly convenient, and it was a public library. Armed with a short list of names compiled of ex policemen going back 18 months, Eastern was on course once more, intent on pursuing the source of the enigma phone number. Surrounded by enquiry books, he endeavoured to match the said number to anyone of six names on his list. It was never going to be an easy task due to the many combinations arising from the inclusion of various other home county listings.

  An hour later, with two potential names still under scrutiny, his persistence finally paid dividends when the lead that he so desperately sought finally materialised. He was now in a position to ascertain that the initials as supplied by DS Curtis and verified by forensic belonged to one DC Terry Bryant, who it seems, resigned some six months previous regarding a personal matter. His last known address discovered could be found located in the Green Acres district of Shoreham. For the third time, Eastern checked the number secured on his mobile. No, he had no reason to think otherwise. Once more, Eastern heaved a sigh of welcome relief in knowing that his scam theory was undoubtedly beginning to look more kosher by the minute. Although containing his one man assassination would be hard to prove otherwise, as it was secreted in the hallowed walls of a reading room while under orders, proved to be a library too far.

  Later that evening, Eastern bit his tongue while in the company of a compatible bottle of Scotch. It was apparent that at some point he’d need to physically check the number out. Ignorant of the whistleblower’s domestic standing, plus the fact that he was secure in a safe house anyway meant that the chances of a verbal connection were looking extremely slim.

  The time had come to act. Brimming with trepidation having dialled the number, Eastern eased himself back into a mood of uncertainty, and waited for a reaction. Within seconds he was left in no doubt as to what had transpired as the histrionic tones emerging from a familiar voice could be heard. The number that you are dialling has not been recognised due to it no longer being in service. Please hang up. It was almost as if he’d been aware, that the outcome had been a foregone conclusion. Looking unperturbed, Eastern pocketed his mobile and sought consolation in the form of a large Scotch.

  “In it to win it!” became his prime thinking. Shrugging his shoulders, he momentarily allowed a streak of misplaced egotism to venture inside his reasoning. Foremost on his agenda was adjudged to be ‘Mr Big’, closely followed by DCI Conway. Downing the remnants in his glass, he vented his feelings. “Enjoy your freedom while you can, you’ll both be history soon. And my only regret is that you will never know who put you away, but happily I can live with that!”

  Loaded with confidence is one thing, but having hindsight is exclusive. In his case, Eastern could have saved his breath for the right reasons had he known there and then that at least one person’s naïve persona could be found to be nearing its sell by date. On the flipside, DS Curtis was in a jubilant mood, having taken on board the admissible evidence linking Dowling to the inconceivable Terry Bryant, aka the whistleblower.

  “I’m glad you called me Mike, there’s no doubt in my mind and I strongly feel that my senior colleagues will undoubtedly think the same. From where I’m standing, there’s definitely a case to be made. In the meantime, we need to expand our resources to find out what their co-joined conspiracy consisted of. This fresh evidence has put a whole new complexion on the original case. The way that things are happening, I can personally see this making Court 1 at the ‘Old Bailey’.

  “No shit? Better late than never I’m hoping. Only remember to keep me up to speed on any breakthrough mate. Meanwhile, that nutter Dowling is still on a walk about, and not forgetting of course that I’ve got a special client that I need to consider.”

  For the first time in a long while, Eastern was content to sit back and readily savour his ‘poison’ as opposed to utilizing his Scotch, as a means to a mouthwash. “You don’t get too many positive days to the pound as of late.” He mused, in a carefree manner, and shifted his gaze toward an adjacent open window. He readily noted that the normally cold stark and drab looking viaduct he’d inherited as a backdrop had now taken on a significant change in aspect. Prominent being the last of the evening sunlight chasing a thousand shadows through and around the giant archways. Even the ever present combined odour of service fumes and aromatic smells exuding from a cosmopolitan catering hive of industry, had given rise to a lightening makeover, by coming across as tolerable.

  On a high one minute, and then low on the next if stated quickly, doesn’t amount to much, depending on the emphasis you put on it of course. In this particular case, Eastern was gifted with the impact from what was to come, by way of his shoulders in sympathy with the word low. On top of that, the bonus emerging from a good night’s sleep obliterated on demand, as he surveyed the front page of the ‘Clarion’ the following morning. Seconds later he would have readily settled for a smack in the mouth, should it be an option, as he strove to take in the blaring headlines

  SUDDEN DEATH OF PRIME WITNESS

  Police conspiracy case once again shrouded in latest mystery

  “This has to be somebody’s idea of a poxy sick joke…the guy has been secreted in a ‘safe house’ for fuck’s sake” was his initial reaction before reading on. Due to the lack of information contained in the report the coverage he noted, was therefore not very explicit in terms of timing and conclusions, but finished by stating

  A
full Post Mortem would be carried out later today, and the Coroner has been informed. The police will be issuing a further statement later, as fresh information comes to light.

  Numbed by anger and acute frustration as the relevance of the witness’s death hit home had now left Eastern feeling morally devastated. “Curtis…I seriously need to contact Curtis.” After a few futile attempts to get through, he finally succeeded in pinning him down. The feedback he received was no different than he had anticipated.

  “I don’t need convincing Mike, I can fully understand how you feel respecting your personal interest in the case. But on a personal level, I’m gutted as well. In fact the team as a whole are pissed off. When I think back, we were that close to obtaining a result, and then the poor bastard goes and dies on us.”

  “I appreciate your loyalty Johnnie, although I still cant get my head around it all the same. One thing is for sure though. I’d give anything to be a fly on the wall in the path lab when they’re doing the business…know what I mean?”

  “If I didn’t know you better Mike, I’d have to say I’m beginning to get the distinct impression that you don’t believe his death was kosher.”

  “Do you?”

  “I’ll take a rain check on that one until the lab report becomes official. But that’s not to say that I haven’t got reservations of my own. I mean, there’s a few ‘faces’ I could name who had a hell of a lot to lose before this happened…”

  “And still could have.” Eastern interjected strongly, and continued, “You wouldn’t want to make a book on this case going away quietly. It’s far too bloody clinical for my money, know what I mean?”