The Gated Trilogy
Page 76
“Oh don’t be an asshole, Jerry, please.”
“That’s Detective Inspector Asshole to you.”
The two men sat across the table for a few moments. Jimmy even lost his appetite which was a first.
“I’ve really got to do this?” Jimmy whined. “Really?”
“Rose Kirby,” Sutherland said and the other man went pale.
“Low blow,” Jimmy said as he dropped his eyes.
“Maybe so, Jimmy, but this is a week for doing shitty things, trust me.”
He watched as Jimmy ran the idea through his mind and weighed up the consequences of his actions at this point.
“You promise that after this we’re square?” Jimmy asked in a small voice.
“Sure,” Sutherland replied.
“No, you say it: you say that if I do this then we’re square and that you’ll never mention Rose again.”
“Jimmy, you have my word.”
“Okay, then; you’re a bastard for making me do this, but okay.”
“I appreciate it, Jimmy, I really do,” he said but Jimmy had already climbed to his feet and left the table. It was the first time that Sutherland had ever seen the man leave food behind.
Rose Kirby had been a prostitute who worked the docks. She had been nothing spectacular, no Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, but for some reason Jimmy had fallen for her and fallen hard. Sutherland could have told him that the woman was bad news, everyone knew she was: everyone but Jimmy.
Jimmy had tried to rescue her from her terrible fate, bombarded her with love and affection but Rose had been as thorny as her name suggested. She had sucked Jimmy dry until there was nothing left. He’d lost his head in her charms until his reputation and career had taken a nosedive. Jimmy had become obsessed with the woman right up until she’d laughed in his face at his attempts to save her. She’d had a cruel tongue and lashed him with it until he’d snapped and strangled her.
When Jimmy had called him at 3am from a motel with a dead hooker in his bed, it had been Sutherland to the rescue. He’d framed Rose’s pimp and shot the man during the attempted arrest, nice and neat.
It had been a valuable card to hold over Jimmy’s head for the past year and a half but now it was used up. He just hoped that helping Tolanson was worth the cost.
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Lomax watched the afternoon news with a bitter taste in his mouth. Tafferty and the young kid were both dead, found in a car abandoned outside of town.
He slammed his fist down hard on the table and the people around him in the pub looked over. Afternoon drinkers found the noise seeping through their daily buzz. Hard faces, reddened by years of alcohol abuse, stared at him with little recognition or comprehension.
He was confident in his anonymity here; these people would be hard-pressed to remember their own names, let alone his face, if questioned. His biggest concern now was that he’d given the kid his card, a business card with his name on it, a name that was still no doubt linked with the death of the old woman that Tolanson had possessed and then killed.
He’d lived in the shadows for a long time but now it felt like something was suddenly pulling him towards the light. The only problem was that if he put his head above the parapet then it was likely to get chopped off.
He finished off the pint in front of him and held the empty glass in his hand desperately wanting to refill it, but he knew that another one would lead to another and so on and so on.
He was in danger of succumbing to defeat and his righteous rage was waning. It was easy to get worked up about Tolanson and then storm the day armed with desire, but that fuel was insubstantial and turned to dust in the blink of an eye.
His was a marathon and he needed a continuing source of energy to keep the slow race going, but he was only human, with all the frailties humans possessed, and apparently Tolanson was not.
He stood up from the table and for the thousandth time that day checked his pocket. He sighed with relief as he felt the distinct outline of the key buried there. After he’d lost his last apartment he’d stashed his files in a railway station locker and now he held the only key like Excalibur’s sword.
The pub’s toilets were at the back of the pub and he made his way a little drunkenly through the tables. The hallway announced the direction of the bathrooms by the strong smell of urine as several people had obviously not made the distance before relieving themselves.
He staggered in and held his nose. The pub’s landlord apparently wasn’t into cleaning much and the facilities stank. He stood over the urinal. His brain was still frantically trying to come up with a plan for getting Avery Grant onside. He had to do it in such a way that she remained in the inner circle but Tolanson seemed to see all and could not be fooled.
He rested his head against his hand as he leaned forward and didn’t hear the approach from behind. Suddenly, he was struck and his vision went blurry as the blow to the head scrambled his senses. He slumped to the floor as heavy boots rained down on him, kicking him viciously. He tried to offer resistance, but to his dismay, he found his defences lacking, as though he didn’t have any fight left in him.
His face was lying in a pool of yellow liquid as someone continued to beat him and all he could do was to welcome the approaching darkness and the oblivion beyond. He had never felt so tired before and all he wanted to do was to sleep. It was an ignominious end and Tolanson would no doubt greatly enjoy the humiliation beyond death, beaten to death in a pool of piss.
Suddenly the beating stopped and he felt hands rummaging through his pockets, snatching up all of his possessions.
“What’s going on in there?” a voice demanded from the other side of the door. The voice was accompanied by a hard banging.
Lomax groaned in pain and tried to move but a boot kicked him hard in the head, sending him to the stars.
“Who’s in there?” the man outside shouted again, banging more loudly on the door.
Lomax groaned louder.
“I’m calling the police,” the man outside shouted.
Lomax tried to sit up as his attacker turned and fled at the notification of the authorities being alerted. He barged open the door and pushed past the elderly landlord, running along the hallway before bursting out into the street.
Lomax’s head was spinning but just before he passed out he reached for the key in his pocket only to find it gone, and without it, his attacker may as well have finished the job.
CHAPTER 15
An Interlude Part 4
1 Year Ago – The Daily News Head Office
Denton Lomax slammed his fist down hard on the table. “God dammit, Jim, you’re not listening to me!” he exclaimed to his editor.
“No, Lomax, it’s you that’s not listening,” Jim Saxton replied slowly and deliberately. “You’re not bringing me any evidence, only wild conjecture. You’re talking about an MP - albeit a junior one, but he’s still a Member of Parliament with the backing of the Progressive Party. If I start authorising a full investigation and it gets out then Tolanson will sue us into extinction!”
“He’s dirty, Jim, I know it.”
“Well then, that’s all we need,” Jim sneered. “Sounds like a perfect defence to me when we get sued.”
“Tell me something, Jim; are you a coward or are you in his pocket as well?”
“You want to be very careful, Denton, my boy,” Jim warned.
Lomax had already said too much but his mouth often ran as fast as he typed. “Look,” he said soothingly. “I’m sorry, okay? It’s just very frustrating. I know the guy is as dirty as they come and left unchecked he’s going to do God only knows what.”
“He’s a junior MP for the Progressive Party, for Christ’s sake, how much damage could he do?”
“You have no bloody idea, no idea.” Lomax sighed heavily, shaking his head.
“Look… leave me what you’ve got, forget provable evidence - just give me your notes, your workings, let me see where you’re coming from.”
Lomax stared long and hard at his editor. The man had been his mentor over the last couple of years.
Jim Saxton was a legend in the business and a man who’d had the foresight to modernise his newspaper before the advent of the online revolution. As a result, The Daily News was still going strong while most of their competitors had fallen by the wayside. If anyone had asked him about Jim Saxton’s character, he’d have probably answered with a slap at the impertinence of the question, but he knew Tolanson and that man had a way of getting to anyone.
“Well? Do I get to look at your precious notes or not?” Jim asked tiredly.
Lomax was still thinking. Ever since he was a young boy, both of his parents had instilled a healthy sense of mistrust in him, but could he trust Jim now?
He was already learning that he was too far behind Tolanson to stop him on his own; the man had quickly risen through the ranks and was still rising. If he was going to stop him then he would need to trust someone: he’d need to trust Jim Saxton.
“Okay,” he finally answered.
“Hallelujah!” Jim said exasperatedly. “Give them to me and I’ll take a look. I promise you, Denton, if you’ve got something here then you’ll have my full backing to run with it. Not only that, you’ll have the full backing of this organisation, okay?”
“Fine,” Lomax said dejectedly as he reached under his seat and brought out the box of papers that he never let out of his sight.
“You only have hard copies?” Saxton asked in surprise. “You never struck me as a Luddite.”
“I’m not, but computers can be hacked, Jim. I’m trusting you with my whole life here. I hope that you appreciate the magnitude of this.”
“You can trust me, Denton, I promise you that. Your work is safe with me. Hell, you think that if I was on someone’s payroll I’d still be driving that old shit box of mine or living in a bedsit because it’s all I can afford after paying alimony?”
Lomax stared at the man that he had known for several years, a legend in the industry and the man whose name was held up as the standard bearer for integrity. “Okay,” he said finally, handing the box over.
“Go home and get some sleep because Christ knows, you look like you need it,” Jim said kindly. “I’ll go through everything tonight and give it back to you tomorrow, okay?”
“No one else sees it or even knows what you’re looking at and no copies,” Lomax responded, deadly serious.
“Agreed, Agent Mulder.”
Lomax looked at him with a furrowed brow.
“The X-Files? You ever watch TV?”
“No,” Lomax said sadly. “My life has had all the real horror it can stand.”
He left the office without further explanation and headed immediately out of the building and onto the street. It was cold outside and he felt the firm grip of winter’s full embrace. It always made him long for the warmth of his childhood home but such luxuries were not for him, at least not for now.
With the city centre being so overly populated with both people and traffic it made little sense to own a car and he headed for the nearest bus stop. The Tubes were quicker but he always hated the sensation of being trapped beneath the earth; he needed to see the sky overhead.
He climbed aboard the number 22 and flashed his prepaid card at the driver. He took a seat near the back and returned to his thoughts again. There was a nagging sensation that he was making a mistake but he couldn’t see any other choice. He’d pushed the solo investigation as far as he could - now he needed help.
Without doubt Tolanson was a careful man, but he was still an arrogant one under the surface. It had taken almost two years for him to expose the politician’s links with the city’s criminal element, namely one Malcolm Donovan. He still had little in the way of out and out proof but he was sure and he hoped that Jim would follow his thinking. He also had suspicions that Tolanson had at least one cop in his pocket but again, no concrete proof.
Tolanson had dropped in out of nowhere and the biggest suspicion that he raised was the seemingly lack of a paper past. There was only the thinnest of skeleton traces of the man down the years: a scholastic record where the man had excelled, followed by a succession of work documentation all with glowing references.
Lomax had not been surprised to uncover a string of deaths around the man but less surprised to find no direct links to Tolanson personally. A suicide here, an accident there, the man left a trail of dead behind him and nothing ever stuck to his reputation.
The bus went into a pothole and everyone bounced in their seats. For the first time, Lomax felt a presence behind him but didn’t turn around. He’d assumed that he’d been under surveillance for some time now. With a man like Tolanson, it was only a matter of time before he found out.
A man behind him looked away as Lomax turned but the man’s head whipped away a little too quickly and Lomax knew for sure that he was being followed.
He stood and wandered to the front of the bus by the doors. He pressed the button to indicate to the driver to pull over and waited for the bus to come to a halt.
The doors opened with a soft swish but the man who’d been sitting behind him remained motionless in his seat looking out the window.
The bus stopped and he hopped off. The man who he thought suspicious remained seated and Lomax watched him through the window as the bus pulled away and felt suitably stupid. The only person to get off the bus at the same time was an old woman who was currently struggling with a large shopping bag. Lomax was a man raised right and he immediately offered to help.
“Where are you heading, love?” he asked.
“Down to Harding Lane.”
“Here, give them to me - I’m going that way,” he replied, taking the heavy bag of shopping.”
“Aren’t you a dear?” She smiled.
Lomax blushed and thought that at least his mother would be proud of him today.
He led the old woman along the road as the sky above darkened and threatened to let loose a torrent of cold rain. The old woman was chatting away at a rate of knots. She was switching subjects seemingly at random and often broke into a fit of laughter while Lomax merely nodded politely, wondering what she was talking about.
Her name was Mary and she insisted that he use her first name. He introduced himself but, much as he knew from his experience with the elderly, she wasn’t really interested in anything he had to say.
The old, especially the women, seemed to have lonely lives as their partners died long before they passed and Mary was no different. By the time that they had walked the quarter mile to her road, he had chapter and verse on her family, her late husband and a full medical history.
“And Doris would always have half a bag in the larder.” Mary finished her story and Lomax could only nod again as he hadn’t been following the tale.
“Well this is me, Dearie,” Mary said as she stopped outside a well-kept small front garden leading up to a smart front door on a terraced street. “Would you mind carrying those inside for me?” She motioned towards the shopping bags that Lomax carried.
“Certainly,” he replied, hiding his impatience well.
“I’ll put the kettle on,” Mary said as she opened the front door and stepped inside.
“You don’t lock your front door?” Lomax exclaimed.
“Never had to before; besides, there’s not much worth stealing.” She giggled.
Lomax followed her into the house and then to the kitchen. He placed the heavy shopping down on the kitchen table as Mary filled the kettle. He tried to think of a quick reason why he had to be on his way but he could see that Mary was already onto another story and would clearly not hear him.
Mary played mother and set a china tea service down on the table along with a covered teapot to brew.
“So what is it that you do?” she asked him.
Lomax was caught off guard by the question as it was the first time that she had shown any interest in him.
“I’m a reporter,” he replied.
Lomax laughed. “No, I’m an investigative reporter; I work mainly on high profile cases of malpractice, fraud, that sort of thing.”
“Sounds fascinating. What are you working on at the moment?”
The question was innocent enough and the asker even more so, but Lomax’s warning lights went on. “Something in politics,” he finally answered.
“Fascinating. I hope that you’re going to expose some of those nasty politicians with all that expenses malarkey. Any big fish in your sights?” she asked eagerly.
“Maybe, but I can’t really talk about it, you understand.”
“Oh, of course,” Mary said disappointedly. “I was just hoping for a juicy bone to gnaw on; it gets pretty lonely here with no one to talk to.”
Lomax took the china cup and saucer that Mary offered and held it up as she poured the tea. He blew on the hot liquid and sipped gently. The tea was good and strong, just like his mother used to make, and he relaxed a touch.
“Biscuit?” Mary offered, holding out a small cookie jar with a bear’s face on it. “Baked them myself.”
He took a biscuit and dunked it. It was sweet and delicious and he quickly took another, realising that he had skipped lunch.
“Would you mind cutting me a slice of that cake, dear?” Mary asked, pointing towards a cake on a stand in the centre of the table and handing him a carving knife. “I’m afraid my arthritis plays the devil’s tune on wet days like this.”
“Sure.” He took the knife and sawed off a thick slice of what smelled like banana bread.
“So, what’s the biggest case that you’ve worked on?” Mary asked excitedly.
Lomax leaned back in his chair feeling safe and warm as the old lady’s house was baking with the central heating presumably left on permanently.
“Probably what I’m working on at the minute,” he said with a yawn and rubbed his eyes. He felt his mouth wanting to talk. Like the old woman, he spent most of his time alone and having another set of interested ears was indeed an appealing thought. The woman’s face was kindly and he had never known a grandparent in his life. There was a nagging voice underneath his own thoughts, one that was desperately trying to get his attention.