by J. E. Mayhew
*****
Gary Churchill arrived at The Lead Station within fifteen minutes. He looked every inch the retired copper. In fact, Blake thought he dressed as if he was still on duty. Grey hair neatly clipped and combed into a side part and held in regimented order by a liberal helping of Brylcreme. He wore a light blue shirt, dark tie and black trousers. Blake stood up when he entered the bar.
“Gary,” he said and shook the old man’s hand.
“Awright, Will?” he said, grinning. “How’s things then?”
“Could be better, Gary,” Blake said. They sat down with Amy at the table and Churchill leaned in.
“So, Amy gave me the low down on what’s been going on and I’ve been following the case on the news. Bit of a pig’s ear, eh?”
Blake nodded. He didn’t mind Gary’s assessment of the situation. It came from years of experience and he wasn’t making judgements. “It is,” Blake admitted. “The killer has clearly linked himself with my past, Gary. He’s left clippings about me and Searchlight in the car of the victim, and these William Blake prints with the bodies of his victims.”
“We were wondering if our killer could be one of the super fans,” Amy said. “You know the ones who congregated outside the studio after the show.”
Gary rolled his eyes. “There were plenty of them. Some of them proper headcases.” He frowned. “A lot of them were middle-aged women and men who had the hots for Ross Armitage or Emerald Fisher.” He gave Blake a grin and winked. “There were a few there for you, though, Blakey.”
“Great. Thanks,” Blake said, staring darkly into his coffee. “Have a look through the comments on this website, Gary. Any names jump out?”
Gary perched a pair of reading glasses on the end of his nose and peered at the screen. “Well, Lady Jane, the woman commenting there, she was the landlady of the Golden Fleece just by the studio. She’d pop over after the show. Half cut most of the time. She must be clocking on now.”
“I don’t think it’s her, somehow.”
“There’s another commenter here called Pauly, he was the gay bloke who used to hang around the studio in the hope of meeting Ross. He was a bit flamboyant but wouldn’t harm a flea. Hang on who’s this? The Gambler?”
“We don’t know,” Amy said. “He runs the site, as far as we can tell. Why?”
Gary put the phone down. “Well, you remember that lad who made a complaint against me? Said I threw him into the traffic and nearly killed him?”
“We were just talking about that, yes,” Blake said. “Didn’t a social worker get involved?”
“Yeah. I nearly lost my job. The kid went bonkers, kicking and biting. I pushed him away to stop him from biting my ear off. He had a social worker who bleated on about him being in care and having a ‘troubled life’ but the lad was a monster. Anyway. His name was Gambles. Josh Gambles. I’ll never forget it as long as I live! He’s your Gambler, I’d put money on it.”
Chapter 32
Matty Cavanagh frowned at Laura as if he was staring at a particularly complex anagram but had grown bored of trying to solve it. “So, you’re an,” he looked at his notes again, “animal psychologist? And you went to this house in Frankby and a man attacked you.”
“That’s about the fifth time you’ve said that, Matty,” Blake snapped. “It’s not complicated. Our man lured Laura into a trap…”
Cavanagh raised his eyebrows at Blake. “Thing is, Will, I sent some officers round there and they found nothing. The house is secure but nobody home. The neighbours say the couple who live there are on holiday and they didn’t hear a thing…”
“Do you think I’m making this up?” Laura said. “Why would I do that?”
Matty Cavanagh glanced at Blake, and it was full of meaning. “I don’t know what to think, Ma’am. Your boyfriend, here, is under a lot of pressure…”
“For Christ’s sake, Cavanagh,” Blake said. “What do you think this is? It’s not about my pride. Laura was terrified when she called me. I found her at Cheshire Oaks…”
“You see, that confuses me, too,” Matty said. “Why go shopping right after being attacked?”
Laura put her head in her hands. “I didn’t know where I was going,” she said. “I just ended up there. There were people there. It felt safe.”
“Look, Matty, I’ve been speaking to some of my old friends from the studio…”
Matty heaved a sigh and raised both hands. “Will, we’re making some progress on the case at last. We’ve got that weird loner Green in custody and Mark Skelly isn’t exactly as pure as the driven snow. The press has calmed down. Some have already got bored, packed up their toys and gone home.”
“And what about Ellen Kevney?”
Cavanagh’s cheeks reddened a little. “You know as well as I do, the chances of the Kevney girl being alive still are a hundred to one.”
“Just check out a Josh Gambles, please,” Blake said. “He was obsessed by the TV programme years ago. He had a history of violence even as a child, apparently…”
“Seems like you’re going down that blind alley quite cheerfully yourself, Blake. I’ll put it on the actions list in the morning. Now if there’s anything else I can help you with?”
Laura looked nonplussed. “That’s it?” she said. “You aren’t going to take it any further?”
“I’ve got your statement, Laura,” Cavanagh said. “I sent some officers on a wild goose chase. I don’t see what else I can do.”
Blake saw Cavanagh to the door and turned to face Laura, who had followed them into the hall. “I can’t believe that’s it,” she said.
“He’s full of crap,” Blake muttered. “Look, Laura, I’m sorry about last night I…”
The phone rang cutting Blake’s apology short. Blake had never had the landline removed from his mother’s house and the only time it rang was if Jeffrey or Blake’s sister, Rosie called. “That’s all I need,” he groaned and picked up the phone. “Hello?”
The line hissed,
“Hello?” he said again.
“It’s me,” a voice said. “I’m aching all over after the mauling your girlfriend gave me. I’d watch that one, if I were you. She’s got a history, if I’m not mistaken. You could see it in her eyes when she hit me. Takes a damaged person to know a damaged person.” Blake tried to listen beyond the voice and heard what sounded like a distant train rattle by in the background.
“Where’s Ellen Kevney?” he said.
“I saw a rather disturbing press conference today, Will. Your Superintendent is telling the world that you’re taking sick leave. It would be terrible news for Ellen if you were off the case.”
“She’s alive, then?”
“For now.”
“I’m not off the case,” Blake snapped. “I’m very much on your case.”
“Excellent. You’ll have to be smart to catch me, though, Will Blake. I’m not one of your dullards caught on CCTV.”
“I’m coming for you, Josh,” Blake said and ended the call. He looked at Laura. “That was our man.”
She frowned. “Why did you call him Josh?”
“Because I’m convinced that’s his name. It’ll rattle him, too. Put him on the back foot. First thing tomorrow, we’re going to start looking for Joshua Gambles.”
*****
Josh Gambles looked at his phone and blinked. Blake had used his name. A thrill of excitement shivered down his back, turning suddenly to cold dread. How had he known? Who had he been talking to? Josh Gambles jumped up from the plastic chair he was sitting on. How much more did he know?
“Maybe I should move,” he said aloud. No. This was all part of the plan, surely. He looked around at the portacabin where he now lived. A table in one corner held all his files and notes. He’d pared his belongings down to a sleeping bag, a pillow, and a camping stove. That stood on the sink in the corner. It made him agile and able to change location quickly if needs be. Switching the light off, he hurried into the yard, wincing at the ache that still nagged his
groin. That Laura could certainly kick.
Anyone who came into this place would see a high fence surrounding a space filled with shipping containers. The main road ran alongside it, hissing with the constant flow of traffic. Every now and then, a train rattled along the line on the other side of a tree-lined embankment that formed its other border.
Josh made for one particular container and prised open the door. When he’d taken the job of caretaker, he’d made sure he hired one of them straight away. The one at the far end where nobody went. Not that many people came here anyway. It was a storage yard; a place where people kept things that they didn’t want but couldn’t part with. He wondered sometimes what guilty secrets might be hidden in some of the other containers. He pulled the bolt down on the door and heaved it open, wincing at the squeal of metal on metal.
Ellen Kevney crouched in the corner, her hands still handcuffed and the chain running through the cuffs and a hoop on the floor. Josh wondered if he should let her exercise but had decided against it. She was in pretty good condition, considering she’d been cooped up all this time and he kept her fed and watered. She’d given up pleading with him, now which was a blessed relief. He found it hard to be nice to her when she was whining.
“He knows my name!” Josh said, clapping his hands. “He is a worthy rival, then. I thought for a moment that he was going to mess things up. I worried I’d made it too hard for him. But the story is unfolding, Ellen. This is his darkest hour. All stories have a darkest hour, don’t they? You know, the false defeat, everything is going against our hero and you think, ‘things can’t get any worse, can they?’ But they can, Ellen. They most surely can…”
Dogged. Have you ever considered that word? It probably doesn’t have full resonance unless you’ve lived with a dog. One foster home I stayed in had a dog. It would sit and watch while you ate. Watch and watch with those big brown eyes. Waiting for one scrap, one morsel. And if you took a chunk of meat or a sliver of bacon and hid it, the dog would push and scratch and dig until it had found it. Dogged. Relentless. Never giving up. That’s Blake.
He’s clever but a lot of detectives are. The thing about Blake is, he doesn’t stop. If I fled the country, I suspect he’d come looking for me.
This may well be my last journal entry. They are closing in and I need to move Ellen Kevney before they finally figure out where I am.
The events of the next couple of days could possibly end in my death. I don’t want that, obviously. I’m not suicidal. I want to live to enjoy my notoriety. But I’m not sure Will Blake will let me live.
In all my planning, I didn’t once entertain the idea that he might actually kill me. But to hear his voice the other day; the hatred in it; he wants my blood. And if I tell him everything I know, everything I’ve done, he’ll end my life for sure. I think I underestimated him. The last domino is about to fall.
Sunday 16th February
Chapter 33
When the phone rang so early in the morning, Blake half expected it to be Josh Gambles or Ralph or whoever he was. It was DS Chinn. “Hi, sir,” she said. “Just checking up on you. Seeing if there’s anything I can help you with?”
“Vikki, are you sure you’re meant to be contacting me?”
“Dunno, nobody has said we can’t, sir, but Cavanagh has put me on recording evidence for the rest of the week. I can do that in my sleep. And Kinnear is sifting through all the registration numbers again. We thought you might want a bit of assistance with your gardening leave.”
Blake grinned. He could kiss Vikki but that would be a bit weird down the phone. “Well, as it happens, I have an old friend who I want to get in touch with. His name is Joshua Gambles. He went through Social Services in Manchester back in 2007. He also had a criminal record. Reckon you could track him down. I think we have some old magazines that belong to him.”
“I could give it a go. D’you think he’s our man, sir?”
“I’m hoping so.”
Laura snaked her arms around Blake’s waist as he ended the call. “So, what do we do next?” she asked him.
“I’m going to look for Joshua Gambles.”
“Then I’m coming with you.”
“Laura, you can’t…”
“He broke into this house like he had his own key. I’m too spooked to sit alone here all day while you swan around.”
“But it’s work…”
“I’d say that was a bit fuzzy, wouldn’t you? Didn’t your boss tell you to take some time off, if you wanted?”
“Yeah but…”
“No, Will. I’d freak out if you left me here alone.”
“All right,” Blake said, wiggling his eyebrows. “How do you fancy visiting a swingers’ club?”
*****
It was nearly midday by the time Laura and Blake reached Aphrodites. Laura didn’t look impressed.
“All we’re going to do is ask the manager to check an address. Just to satisfy my curiosity. I’m not going to ask if we can use his dungeon.”
“It isn’t that,” She said, staring up at the sign. “Why is there no apostrophe?”
Blake nodded, his face grim. “I wondered that too. Maybe we should ask him.” He rapped on the door. “Remember, we aren’t strictly on official Police business or you wouldn’t be here. Don’t you say anything. Just look stern.”
“Stern. Like ‘facing down a Doberman’ kind of stern?”
“Exactly that.”
Bob Courtney opened the big red door and physically winced when he saw Blake. “Bloody Hell, Blake. Haven’t I had enough grief? I’ve had reporters camping outside for three nights, half my punters have disappeared, and I doubt they’ll come back. What do you want now? Free membership? Anyway, didn’t I hear that they’d taken you off the case?”
“No, Bob, that doesn’t happen. I’m working back of office at the moment. Sifting through fiddling details, checking any minor infringements of the law as we go along. It occurred to me, have we reviewed your licence recently?”
Bob Courtney looked like he was going to cry. “Please, Blake. It’s not funny. I’ve had to cancel a holiday to Florida ‘cos’ of you…”
“I’m having to fingertip search the North West for a missing mother of two because of you,” Blake countered, raising an eyebrow. Laura scowled and folded her arms in apparent disgust at the club owner but said nothing.
Bob pursed his lips. “It wasn’t my fault. I thought Ralph’s ID was okay. Anyway, what do you want?”
“I want you to have a quick scan through your guest list and tell me if there is anyone who goes to this club from Cowley Rd Frankby?”
“I don’t have to look; I know the answer to that one: Roz and Derek Fulton. They’re regulars.”
“Friends of Ralph, are they?”
Bob laughed. “They’re everybody’s friend,” he grew serious. “But, yeah, they spent a lot of time with him. They’re okay, aren’t they?”
“They’re fine. That’s all I need to know, thanks,” Blake said.
“How come you didn’t check the list I gave you already?” Bob called after him.
“Just wanted to hear it from the horse’s mouth,” Blake called back as he climbed into his Opel Manta.
Laura grinned. “That was exciting. So, what do we know now?”
“The house you went to was only a stone’s throw from Hilbre Grove and we know how Josh Gamble got access to it, now.”
“You did believe me, didn’t you?” Laura muttered, her face falling.
“Of course I did, and now we have a concrete link between our man and the owners of the house. We can throw that in Cavanagh’s face, too.”
Blake’s phone rang. “Kinnear,” he said. “How’s the paperwork going?”
“Driving me insane, sir,” he said in a low voice. “Listen. Vikki came up trumps with your Mr Gambles. He was in care in and around Manchester for some time. Back and forth to foster homes but they always seemed to break down. Anyway, I’ve got the name and address of a social worker who
used to try to help Josh. She’s retired now but she’s happy to talk to you. Cavanagh is watching everyone. I don’t think he wants us to pass anything on to you.”
“No worries, Kinnear. I won’t tell if you don’t. Where is she?”
Kinnear gave him the address and he entered it into the phone. “Fancy a drive out to Warrington, Laura?”
“Wow, Will Blake,” Laura said. “You know how to show a girl a great time.”
They drove in silence for a while along the Mersey side of the Wirral until the houses gave way to green fields and trees and then they turned onto the motorway. After a while, Laura gave a shiver. “Is it always this exciting?”
Blake frowned at her. “Really? I thought you were afraid. You were nearly killed yesterday.”
“I know,” Laura said, her green eyes flashing. “But I wonder if he just wanted to frighten me.”
“I’m not sure. Whoever this man is, he’s not stable and I wouldn’t describe any of this as exciting.”
Laura looked out of the window. “Well it has its moments, doesn’t it?”
“Most police work is a dull grind, Laura. When I come home late, it’s not because I’ve been involved in car chases or shootouts with desperate gangsters. It’s usually because I’ve been filing reports and refreshing databases and filling in time sheets. And being attacked by a psychopathic killer is in no way ‘exciting.’”
The chemical plants of Runcorn flashed by as they crossed the River Weaver. Laura looked at her nails. “You don’t have to tell me,” she said.
“Gambles could have incapacitated you the moment you stepped into the hall, but he made that elaborate pantomime of drawing you in and standing behind you…”
Laura shuddered this time and nodded. “Yeah, it wasn’t that exciting, I suppose,” she muttered. “I was frightened witless…”
Blake frowned. He’d only known Laura a few months; he knew very little about her past, but she’d become an integral part of his life. There were moments like this one when she veered from one emotion to another: excitement to a sudden quietness. Blake wondered what had happened in her past to make her so volatile. ‘Takes a damaged person to know a damaged person.’ That’s what Josh Gambles said. Was he just winding him up or had that psychopath seen something in Laura’s eyes and recognised it?