Bad Sons (Booker & Cash Book 1)

by Oliver Tidy

  ‘Bloody hell.’

  ‘Mind if I don’t get up?’

  ‘Anything broken?’

  ‘Don’t think so. Ribs are sore.’

  ‘I’m calling an ambulance.’

  ‘Please, don’t.’

  She ignored me. Made the call and then fetched a blanket and an umbrella from her car.

  She explained herself. ‘It’s not your decision. If I don’t get you appropriate medical attention and you die I’ll be in trouble for it.’

  ‘With your conscience?’ I managed.

  ‘No. With my boss.’

  ‘You could have just helped me upstairs.’

  ‘And what if a broken rib had punctured one of your lungs? Or your concussion became something worse? You need medical attention and I’m not a doctor. You see who it was?’

  ‘No. And they didn’t say anything either.’

  ‘This got something to do with your black eye?’

  ‘I don’t know. Honestly.’ I was feeling light-headed.

  Sometimes the ambulance on the night shift would park up in the lay-by outside The Ocean waiting for the next call. There’s a chip shop opposite. The speed with which they got to me suggested they were there then. Five minutes tops.

  I was examined briefly, asked a couple of easy questions by a man who smelt of salt and vinegar, laid out on a trolley bed that could have been the one that took my aunt away, covered, strapped down and lifted in to the back of the ambulance. Another ten minutes. I was given something for the pain, bounced out of the car park and driven away. I didn’t see Detective Cash again or get a chance to thank her.

  *

  I suffered the fuss and bother of further examination at the hospital. I was cleaned up, stitched and glued, prodded and poked and dosed with painkillers. I was X-rayed and then wheeled into a busy ward to spend the rest of the night under observation for my concussion.

  My injuries were not life-threatening – cuts and bruises and some heavy bruising around my ribs. If I’d not been living alone they might have sent me home.

  *

  All things considered I slept quite well. I managed at least two hours before the ward came to life. They made noises about turfing me out after I’d been seen by the doctor. While I was awaiting this pleasure a phone was wheeled over to me on a trolley. I said hello.

  ‘Morning, Mr Booker. How are you today?’ It was Detective Cash.

  ‘Are you at work already?’

  ‘No. I’ve got some time off.’

  I didn’t think much about how lame that sounded. ‘Blimey, you must be bored. They’re discharging me after a quick MoT. Nothing too serious.’

  ‘Good. Need a lift home?’

  ‘You offering?’

  ‘Clearly.’

  ‘Thank you, then. I can’t see how I’m going to get back otherwise. You sure?’

  ‘I never offer something if I’m not sure. If you give me permission, and you still keep a key under the pot, I can even pick you up some clothes on the way through if you like.’

  ‘Detective, I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘Yes or no and a time would be a start.’

  *

  She arrived mid-morning. I’d been given the all clear and some pills for the pain in my side and was just waiting, taking up space.

  Detective Cash was wearing tight jeans, a tight top, comfy shoes, a little make-up and a fragrance that got a hook in me. I saw her speaking to one of the nurses before she approached me. I was not looking my best.

  She handed over a clean T-shirt and jeans and my fleece top. I was glad she hadn’t gone rooting around for boxers. Or maybe she had and didn’t like what she found, so pretended she hadn’t.

  I thanked her, asked for some privacy, got my curtains drawn and then dressed myself as slowly as I could ever remember doing. Bruised ribs will do that to you.

  I found her flicking though a wrinkled magazine outside the ward.

  ‘Did you go back to sleep?’

  ‘Funny. Good job you didn’t bring socks. That could have put another hour on it.’

  We walked slowly out of the building and across to where she’d parked her car. She came around and opened the passenger door for me. I think she was trying to be funny.

  When we were both strapped in, I had something to say: ‘Before we leave, I want to thank you, both for last night and for this.’

  She smiled at me then. It could have been the first time she’d smiled at me. It felt like the first time I’d ever been smiled at. And she wasn’t really trying.

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  ‘Now tell me why you’re doing it?’

  She had both her hands on the steering wheel and was staring straight ahead through the windscreen. She had a good profile. She wasn’t beautiful in any classical sense but she was well put together and she knew how to make the best of what she had. She had good skin, small ears, a slightly turned up nose and clear eyes. She was thinking and it suited her.

  ‘I’m not entirely sure, if I’m honest. Can we leave it at that for now?’

  I said we could and she drove me home.

  ***

  23

  It turned out Detective Cash didn’t have any plans for her day off. So she came in. I politely declined her offer of assistance up the stairs. I was battered and bruised, not ninety.

  I said I needed a shower to feel human again. She said that given how long it had taken me to put on a T-shirt and trousers in the morning she’d find something for us to eat. I told her there was money on the worktop and to go to the baker’s and buy a couple of meat-filled baguettes. I said they did proper coffee too and if she could find a couple of clean mugs they’d fill them.

  The painkillers helped. A lot. I was already a little more flexible. About as flexible as something made from hardwood. Stripping off in the bathroom, I could see the full extent of the bruising to my body. If it hadn’t been me it might have been pretty – purples, blues and deep greens. My face wasn’t looking its best either. I still needed a shave but couldn’t be bothered.

  As I let the water revitalise and cleanse me I thought a bit about the pair who’d attacked me. And I thought I’d pay them both back when I found out who they were. I could play dirty too.

  When I came back into the kitchen, clean, refreshed and feeling better, she hadn’t washed up my plates or tidied up the work surfaces a bit. That was a little disappointing. I found her downstairs. She’d made herself comfortable in the shop and was eating something out of a paper bag with one hand and reading a battered paperback from the other. A steaming mug of coffee sat on the little table next to her. With the book, she pointed over to where she’d left mine. I thanked her, again, and with a grimace lowered myself down opposite her into one of the leather sofas. She put the book to one side.

  ‘Is it really your day off?’

  ‘Yes.’

  I didn’t know her well enough to tell whether she was lying and it didn’t seem the polite thing to do to call her on it. So I had to accept it.

  ‘Why did you call me last night?’

  ‘Maybe I fancied a drink after all.’

  Again, I was lost to her honesty and again I had to accept what she said. I changed tack.

  ‘You’re not married, are you?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Boyfriend?’

  More head-shaking.

  ‘Girlfriend?’

  She cocked an eyebrow and gave me a look.

  ‘You know I’m married?’

  We held each other’s gaze as she nodded and I was none the wiser about anything. I got the feeling she was just putting up with my male stupidity; my ego thinking that because she was here on her day off she must have a thing for me.

  ‘How’s the packing going?’

  ‘Slowly.’

  ‘It’ll be slower now with your ribs. Want some help?’

  ‘Are you serious?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Today?’

  ‘Yes, today.�
��

  She must have read something in my look. ‘I understand that ordinary people, like me, have no idea of how to handle a book. I mean, books aren’t meant for normal people to read and enjoy, to touch, are they?’

  ‘OK. OK.’ I was smiling. ‘I’ll show you what needs doing. If you’re offering help then I’m grateful for it. But there are two conditions.’

  She waited.

  ‘Number one: you wash your hands first. Number two: you’ve got to agree to let me buy you dinner when we’re finished.’

  ‘Number one’s doable. But I’ll have to decline the meal. I’m busy tonight.’

  I was disappointed. ‘Another time, maybe?’

  ‘We’ll see.’ She looked at her watch. ‘I’ve got five hours. You want to make a start or not?’

  I spent the next ten minutes going over the system I’d been working on. I started her packing on less important titles. I thought that, despite her goodwill, it would be better to keep the more valuable stuff for myself to do.

  She was good. She worked quickly and efficiently and carefully. My injuries slowed me down. After a while she peeled off her top layer. Underneath she wore a sleeveless shirt that clung to her trim frame. She went in and out in all the right places. I noticed a long scar running down the inside of her left forearm. I used it as an excuse to stop and talk. I asked her where she got it.

  She ran a finger down it. ‘Pushing through a door in too much of a hurry. This isn’t going to turn into a ‘Jaws’ moment, is it?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You know, my scar’s bigger than your scar.’ In response to my blank look she said, ‘Dreyfuss, Scheider and Shaw sitting around the table drinking beer and comparing scars?’

  I remembered and laughed a little, which hurt my side, which made me stop.

  ‘No. I don’t have any impressive scars. Sorry. Not yet.’

  We used the moment to take a break. I offered to get a couple of cold drinks from the shop around the corner. She said she’d go; it might be quicker. When she returned I sat down. She leaned against the wall.

  ‘Any ideas yet about who used you as a football?’

  I shook my head. I wasn’t sharing about Pike.

  ‘I don’t think you’re being honest with me.’ She didn’t say it nastily. ‘If you don’t help the police, we can’t help you.’

  ‘I know. Look, it might have something to do with someone I upset in the pub the other night.’

  ‘Is that where you got the eye?’

  I nodded. ‘I started it. There are plenty of witnesses to that. He said something I didn’t like about my relatives and I hit him. His mate hit me. If I try to bring charges against them for this, something I’m not even certain they did, he has a lot of witnesses to be able to bring charges against me for assault. I don’t want trouble with the law. I’d rather just leave it where it is.’

  ‘You had trouble before, didn’t you?’

  ‘You know I did.’

  ‘What was that about?’

  ‘Impetuous youth, stupidity and testosterone.’

  ‘Will you, though?’

  ‘Leave it?’

  She nodded and she was staring quite intently at me.

  ‘Yeah, I’ll leave it.’ I don’t think she believed me any more than I did. I changed the subject. ‘It’s been nearly a week now since my aunt died and my uncle went missing. Where are the police with it?’

  ‘I shouldn’t talk to you about it, but if I do, you must promise me to keep what I say between us. It would look very bad for me if things came to light that only the police would know.’

  ‘Incidentally, how would it look for you if you were caught here now?’

  ‘It’s my day off. What I do on my day off is my business.’

  ‘Even when it involves consorting with suspects in a murder investigation?’

  ‘I don’t think you’re a suspect.’

  ‘I promise I won’t say anything.’ I meant it.

  ‘When your aunt was found with your uncle missing the initial reaction based on the how-it-looked kind of evidence was a possible domestic incident that had got out of hand. That didn’t last long as a theory because you came along. Naturally, your position has been considered. But for one reason and another you’re not a great fit – my governor’s words. Of course, then your uncle turned up with a broken neck and in the sea. He couldn’t have done that to himself and then jumped into the English Channel, so there must have been at least one other person involved. The spotlight swings back to you. But there is no evidence to suggest you are implicated and your uncle must have been kept somewhere for the period of time that he went missing and was found on the beach. It wasn’t here.’

  ‘What makes you so sure of that?’

  ‘Forensic evidence and because we searched the place very thoroughly.’

  ‘Just that?’

  ‘No. Not just that.’ She gave me a half-smile.

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘I can’t go that far.’

  ‘Why? Please. They are my family. I have a right to know.’

  ‘Actually, you don’t. Not legally.’ She studied me for a moment before saying, ‘And it wouldn’t be pleasant for you to hear.’

  ‘I’m a big boy, in case you hadn’t noticed. I want to know. It might mean something to me that could help you.’

  She looked uncomfortable but she finally said, ‘Wherever he had been kept between Wednesday night and Saturday morning he had been tied up. His wrists and ankles. Also, there are other traces of specific and unusual forensic evidence that showed up on his clothing – and don’t even bother asking because that I am not sharing. Nothing that matches was found here.’

  ‘Tied up! For two days! Christ! What sort of a person would do that to an old man?’

  ‘Why would be a better place to start. We find the why and then we have a better chance of finding the who.’

  ‘So the police are treating both of their deaths as murder?’

  ‘Unofficially, yes.’

  ‘Why unofficially?’

  ‘Because of the nature of their deaths. If the police give the investigation a high public profile their killer, or killers, might be frightened off. We don’t want to alarm anyone into flight. Not when we don’t have the first idea of who we should be watching.’

  ‘Why doesn’t that make sense to me? Two people are murdered and the police don’t want to make a song and dance about it. Strikes me it should be the other way around.’

  ‘Given the circumstances of their deaths – i.e. they appear to have been snatched out of their home in their slippers, as you pointed out – we have to consider that whoever wanted them out of the way was in a hurry. Your visit could have something to do with it. It could have been the impetus.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  She sighed heavily. ‘You’d better be able to keep your mouth shut, Mr Booker.’

  ‘I can. Why don’t you call me David? Don’t you think we’re past Mr and Detective?’

  After a moment and a little exhalation she said, ‘Jo, then.’

  ‘Short for?’

  ‘Jo will do. I have a big enough problem sharing police business with you. I’m not divulging those kinds of personal secrets.’

  ‘It must be bad then?’

  ‘Worse than you can imagine.’

  We’d taken a big personal step but given the context of our discussion it meant as much as a spit in the ocean.

  ‘Let me ask you a question and please try to look at it as just a question, not an accusation. Could your relatives have been involved in anything illegal?’

  ‘Are you serious? No. Absolutely not. No way. Never. Impossible.’

  ‘Right. Let’s assume you’re correct and, incidentally, we have found nothing to suggest the contrary. What other reasons could there possibly be for them to have been snatched, one of them killed straight away – drowned and hooked on to the ironwork at the outfall for us to find – yes, we checked that all out, of course, and you w
ere right. Another reason that makes you look less likely to be involved by the way – and the other victim, your uncle, kept hidden away alive for days before having his neck broken?’

  ‘I have no idea. Maybe to confuse the issue?’

  ‘Maybe. It’s also possible your uncle was kept alive because whoever it was wanted information from him. When they got it, or didn’t because he didn’t have it, they killed him.’

  ‘You make this sound like some New York Times best-seller. Is there something you aren’t telling me?’

  ‘There is necessarily a lot I’m not telling you because you don’t need to know it. I think you are entitled to know about what happened to your relatives but you are not entitled to know things that might jeopardise our investigation into their deaths. Is that clear enough for you?’

  She was so neutral, objective and professional with her delivery that I found it hard to find something to take issue with her over. She was a hard person to get emotional with. I sensed she just wasn’t that much into feelings, her own or other people’s. Maybe that made her a good copper.

  ‘So, we let whoever it was go on believing we don’t have a clue, maybe even that we believe their deaths are a terrible accident, and we keep digging, looking for something.’

  Her arguments made a kind of sense but she was holding something back. I was sure of that. I thought of the money I was set to inherit in the form of stocks and shares and refused to associate it with anything illegal. But I would have to check on how long my relatives had been nest-egg building.

  She hadn’t finished. ‘On that note, I don’t know whether you have any ideas about getting proactive, but I’m warning you officially to stay clear. Understand?’

  ‘You said it’s your day off.’

  ‘The police are never off duty, Mr Booker.’

  ‘David.’

  ‘The police are never off duty, David.’ She was serious.

  I changed the subject. ‘You said this morning you weren’t sure why you were helping me. Do you know now?’

  She put her hands on her hips and, with her hips, deliberately or not, it was a very provocative pose. She narrowed her eyes at me, cocked her head to the side and made a bit of a face.