by Tom Bale
It was ten to nine when he reached Leon’s property. He pressed the button on the intercom. After a few seconds he heard a click, and the gate unlocked.
The front door opened as he ambled across the drive. He was greeted by the young man he’d seen outside the B&B yesterday morning, kicking at Diana’s pampas grass while he smoked. Today he was in an LRS uniform, but looked no less surly or hostile.
‘You’re Carter, are you?’
Joe nodded. ‘Can I see Leon?’
‘He’s not here. You got a message for him?’
‘Tell him I accept,’ Joe said. ‘Providing the money’s right.’
The man raised his eyebrows. ‘It’ll be what it is,’ he said, and slammed the door.
Joe felt deflated. He’d envisaged agreeing the terms and possibly even starting work right away. Now at a loose end, he decided to find Alise and discuss how to approach her sister’s former boyfriend.
His first stop was the cafe, but the only customers were a group of builders. Joe sent Alise a text as he returned to the High Street: Are you free to meet today?
The library was open, but there was a different woman behind the counter. Joe was chiding himself for feeling disappointed when a gently mocking voice said, ‘Not you again.’
Ellie was heading towards him, her arms fully stretched to support the tower of books propped beneath her chin.
‘Can I help with those?’ he asked.
‘I’m stronger than I look. And I have a reckless disregard for my personal safety.’
Joe followed her over to a display of large-print titles. She eased the books deftly onto a table and began adding them to the shelf.
‘Have you seen Alise this morning?’ he said.
‘No. Why?’
‘I ran into her yesterday. She told me about her sister.’
Ellie studied him carefully. ‘You know she’s far too young for you?’
‘Jesus. Do you really think that’s—’
‘No.’ She held up her hands. ‘I was only teasing. But it sounds like she’s ensnared you.’
‘I feel sorry for her, sure. She’s got no one else on her side.’
Ellie said nothing. Obviously she didn’t dispute his assessment.
‘Don’t suppose you know where she lives?’ he asked.
‘No idea.’ She turned away from him, arranging the books with small, efficient movements. A hint of her fragrance drifted into his range, and made him want to step closer. After a moment, she said, ‘Did you check out the Shell Cavern?’
‘I went up there. I didn’t actually go into the cave.’
Playfully, she clicked her tongue. ‘So you do need somebody to hold your hand. What have you got planned this afternoon?’
‘Not a lot,’ Joe said before he had time to consider. ‘Are you asking me out?’
‘Don’t get ahead of yourself. I’m simply offering to be your tour guide.’ Ellie turned, held his gaze for a second, her eyes dark and unreadable. ‘Meet me here at two o’clock.’
Outside, Joe checked for messages, then tried ringing Alise but got the ‘call failed’ message. He had to zigzag up and down the street, chasing the phone signal as it danced in and out of range. Finally he had it, only to discover that Alise’s phone was switched off.
Back to the cafe. He was gazing through the window like some forlorn character out of Dickens, trying to decide if he could afford a coffee, when a noise caught his attention. A trim silver-haired man in a dark grey suit was setting up an A-frame pavement sign for the Halcyon Gallery.
He made sure the sign was positioned correctly, then gave Joe a quick, furtive glance. Joe started towards him.
‘Morning. Are you Patrick Davy, by any chance?’
The man nodded, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. He was about sixty, a few inches shorter than Joe, tanned and good-looking, with pale blue eyes.
‘My name’s Joe. Alise Briedis suggested I talk to you.’
The mention of her name didn’t have the effect Joe intended. If anything, Davy grew more defensive.
‘Did she now? What about?’ He spoke with a soft Australian accent, but he sounded just as hostile as everyone else Joe had encountered in Trelennan.
‘She told me that you own the gallery. Mind if I have a look round?’
Davy shrugged. ‘It’s open for business. You can do what you like.’
He turned and went inside, leaving Joe shaking his head in despair. This town …
The gallery was housed in a large, airy structure that had probably once been a barn, or maybe a granary. There was a mezzanine floor and three big skylights at the front that poured natural light into the building. The exhibits of many different artists were displayed: a range of paintings, photography, ceramics and glassware, in styles that ranged from cute and corny to unsettlingly experimental.
Davy made for the counter by the door, slipped off his jacket and slung it over a stool. He was wearing a white cotton shirt that couldn’t disguise a lean and muscular physique. A dedicated swimmer, perhaps, Joe thought.
The Australian picked up a stack of mail, pulling faces as he divided the envelopes into three piles. ‘Bills, bullshit and miscellaneous,’ he muttered to himself. Then he sighed. ‘So what is it Alise has been saying?’
‘Your name came up in connection with Derek Cadwell.’
‘Aha. Not one of Alise’s favourite people. Not one of mine, either.’ Davy flashed Joe a quizzical look, as if to say: And where do you stand?
‘From what I’ve seen, he’s a creep. And I’ve only been here two days.’
That earned him another careful appraisal. ‘You knew Alise from before?’
‘No.’
‘But she told you about her sister?’
‘Kamila. Yes. I’m trying to help her.’
Davy’s face went from suspicious to scornful, as if nobody could be that gullible.
‘You know what Alise does for a living?’
Joe frowned. ‘She’s an actuary. But what’s that got to do with—’
‘And her boyfriend’s name?’
‘She did mention it, but I don’t recall. Anyway, she dumped him because he wasn’t being supportive. Said he was a prick.’
Davy laughed. ‘Yeah. That’s what she told me.’
‘So why the twenty questions?’
Tossing the last couple of letters aside, Davy reached beneath the counter and came up brandishing a cricket bat. He wielded it, sword-like, in both hands, and took delight in the surprise on Joe’s face.
‘These days I believe in a cautious approach,’ he said. ‘The bastards tried brute force and it didn’t work. I figure maybe next time they’ll try something more subtle. Send in some bloke, pretending to be friendly …’
Joe nodded. ‘So you are having trouble with Derek Cadwell?’
‘Oh yeah. Him and his buddies. Leon Race being one of them.’
‘You said they tried brute force. What did they do?’
Davy put the bat down and beckoned Joe closer. He bent forward and carefully parted his hair just above the crown, revealing a thick, bumpy line of scar tissue.
‘Split my skull open.’ He pulled his collar away from his neck to reveal several more scars in a pattern like raking fingernails. ‘Came up behind me, smashed a bottle over my head, then swiped me with it as I fell.’
Joe whistled. ‘That was Leon’s men?’
‘Yep. Couldn’t prove it, of course.’ Davy checked his watch. ‘Tell you what, I’ll hold off opening for another ten minutes and you can hear the full story.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘If you’re really serious about helping Alise, you’d better bloody know what you’re up against.’
Twenty-Nine
DAVY BROUGHT THE sign back in and locked up. At the rear of the gallery there was a private area with a stockroom, toilet facilities and a small kitchenette.
‘I used to have a tea room on the mezzanine,’ Davy told Joe as he filled an ancient kettle. ‘Fantastic views up there. Real hit with the tourists
. It was run by the sister-in-law of the lady who owns the cafe along there. They had this friendly rivalry, you know? Who can make the best carrot cake …’
‘And what happened?’
‘Cadwell and Race frightened her off.’ He found a couple of mugs, blew dust off them, then reconsidered and gave them a rinse under the tap. ‘After that I couldn’t find anybody else to replace her.’ He hunted in the cupboards. ‘There’s coffee, tea and sugar, but no milk, I’m afraid.’
‘Black coffee’s fine,’ Joe said. ‘So why did they attack you?’
‘Simple enough. Cadwell is keen to expand, and he wants this place.’ Davy indicated the gallery. ‘I guess the death trade is looking up, even if nothing else is.’ His laughter had a bitter ring to it.
Joe was confused. ‘A funeral parlour doesn’t need a prime retail site.’
‘Nope, you’re spot on. But this is about status. Power. It’s their town, so they’ll get whatever they bloody well want.’
‘And for that he half-killed you?’
Davy nodded. ‘He made the first approach just over a year ago. A bloody silly offer. I guess he knew I was struggling. I said I wasn’t interested but he didn’t listen. In the end I had to get my lawyer to tell his lawyer, in the usual polite legalese, to get stuffed. Fool that I am, I assumed that would do it.’ He stared into the middle distance. ‘But Derek didn’t give up. He went running to Leon.’
They took their coffees up to the mezzanine, where the only remnants of the cafe area were an aluminium table and a couple of matching chairs. There was a stack of canvases in the corner, large expressionist paintings of turbulent oceans and grotesquely compelling portraits. Davy caught Joe admiring them and said, ‘That’s how I vent my frustrations. In oil and acrylic.’
‘They’re excellent. I like them a lot.’
‘The tourists don’t. They prefer tidy watercolours. Yachts and lighthouses and sandy beaches at daybreak. I make more from commission on other people’s work than I do from my own.’ Davy sighed. ‘And I tell myself it still beats pen-pushing, nine to five.’
‘If you didn’t believe that, wouldn’t you have given in to Cadwell?’
‘Yeah. Fair point.’ Unconsciously or not, Davy started gently rubbing his scalp. ‘It was less than a week after I gave my final answer. In Newquay with a mate. We came out of this bar and got jumped from behind. Three of them, we think.’
‘So it could have been anybody?’
‘Not quite. As I fell I managed to take one of them down with me. Trapped his arm under my body.’ He paused, the memory vivid in his eyes. ‘Last thing I heard before I fainted was the crack of a bone breaking. I was laid up for a month, but friends from here told me that one of Leon’s bullyboys had his arm in a sling. Bloke called Reece Winnen.’
‘Reece?’ Joe said. He described the LRS men who had turned up during the incident with Alise and Cadwell.
‘Yeah, that’s Reece. The one with curly hair is probably Todd Ancell. I reckon he was one of them.’
‘And the police couldn’t do anything?’
‘Nope. Reece claimed he fell off a ladder at Leon’s place. There’s some maintenance man who backed up the story.’
‘That wouldn’t be Glenn, would it?’
‘Yeah. How’d you know him?’
Joe shook his head, a feeling of dread twisting in his stomach. What was Diana playing at?
‘Doesn’t matter,’ he said. ‘I suppose the police investigation fizzled out?’
Davy gave a caustic laugh. ‘According to the boys in blue it had, to quote: “All the hallmarks of a homophobic assault.”’
‘Homophobic?’
The Australian laughed again. ‘Don’t be shocked that you missed the signals. I don’t give out signals if I can help it. In that sense, the cops were dead right.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It wasn’t a homophobic attack per se, but Leon and his crowd aren’t exactly fans of cultural diversity. I’ve been here eight years, and I reckon they only tolerated me because I’m white and I speak English – even if there are Poms who’d disagree. But now my time’s up, because Cadwell’s set his heart on a morgue with a view …’
Joe gazed at the bank of windows that filled the gallery’s north wall. The bay was obscured by a misty drizzle, an iron-grey sea rolling out of the murk. Gulls drifted like scraps of litter flung into the wind.
Davy’s story sounded plausible, as had Alise’s tale of woe, but Joe couldn’t dismiss the possibility that both of them had an axe to grind. What he needed was corroboration from a more objective source.
He turned back to the Australian: ‘Do you really think they’ll try again?’
‘Sure of it. But they’ll vary their tactics, like they did before.’
Joe stared at him. ‘Before?’
‘Yeah. When Leon wanted Trelennan’s taxi firm he used petty vandalism and fake bookings. Eighteen months of it, something different every night. Sent the proprietor insane.’
Davy leaned back in his chair, eyes half-closed as he reeled off the details. ‘Whereas, with the amusement arcade, the police got an anonymous tip-off. Found child pornography on the owner’s computer. Roger Pengelly, a nice bloke. He swore blind it had been planted, and luckily there were enough people with access to his office to cast doubt. They dropped the prosecution, but you know how it is.’
Joe nodded grimly. ‘Mud sticks.’
‘People wouldn’t let their kids anywhere near the arcade. Leon made him an offer and Roger had no choice but to take it. Bloody effective way to build an empire, if you don’t have to worry about reprisals.’
‘And Leon Race doesn’t?’
‘Not round here. No one would dare.’
‘And the police?’
Davy shrugged. ‘The local station shut down a few years back. Wasn’t needed, since the official crime rate is zero. I’d say it’s also a fair bet that Leon has nurtured friendly relationships with one or two senior cops.’
Joe didn’t respond. Allegations of police corruption aroused an instinctive desire to defend his former profession, even though he knew from bitter experience that there were a few rotten apples in the barrel.
He said, ‘Did you know there’s a journalist in town, writing an article about Leon?’
‘Yeah? He won’t be allowed within a mile of this place, then.’ Davy grew thoughtful. ‘Maybe if Alise had a chance to talk to him …?’
‘I’m not sure he’d be all that sympathetic, but perhaps it’s worth a try. If I could get hold of her, that is.’
Davy sat upright. ‘What the hell do you mean? Has Alise gone missing?’
The Australian’s reaction set off a twinge of anxiety in Joe. ‘Not exactly. I saw her yesterday afternoon, then she texted me a little later. Do you know where she lives?’
‘I’ve got her address somewhere.’ Davy steepled his fingers, held them upright against his mouth as if praying fervently. His eyes seemed to bore into Joe. ‘You didn’t like me suggesting the police might be bent. Are you a cop?’
‘A long time ago.’
‘I thought so. That’s good. It means you have the expertise to help Alise. What’s your honest assessment about Kamila? Do you think she’s dead?’
‘I think something serious has happened to her,’ Joe conceded. ‘As for what – and who did it – that’s going to be very hard to establish.’
‘But you’re willing to listen. That’s more than most people round here will do. I know Leon’s involved, because I’ve seen what he’s capable of.’
Joe raised a hand. ‘The sort of intimidation you’ve described is terrible. But it’s not the same as abduction and murder.’
‘I disagree. To me, it’s exactly the same. It’s about greed. It’s about getting your own way.’ Davy’s voice rose as the passion of the argument gripped him; he made an effort to bring it under control. ‘Leon Race is a bully. A big, overgrown kid who never learned to compromise. He knows he’s lacking in education. He’s alm
ost proud of it. But you know he’s never had as much as a speeding ticket? As a kid he’d wreak havoc and then weasel his way out of taking responsibility. What I’m saying here, Joe, is that he’s a bloody dangerous man, and he’s all the more dangerous because he relies on being underestimated.’
Joe nodded. He decided not to reveal that he’d already met Leon and been offered a job by him. Better not to muddy the waters.
Davy glanced at his watch and gave a start. ‘I should open up, in the vague hope of finding somebody willing to part with their money.’
He hurried downstairs, hunted behind the counter and located an old notebook. He licked his forefinger and dabbed the pages open.
‘You got me worried about her now,’ he muttered. ‘Ah, here it is. Flat 5, 28 Lonsdale Avenue.’ He gave Joe directions, then added, ‘Be discreet. She’s staying as an unofficial tenant with a girl … Karen somebody. Works in Gwynn’s on the High Street. Karen or Sharon, anyway.’
‘Okay. I’ll let you know when I’ve spoken to her.’
They shook hands. Davy gave him a penetrating stare. ‘You look like you could be pretty useful in a fight, Joe, but I’d have said the same thing about myself. It didn’t count for much when three blokes clouted me from behind.’
‘I hear what you’re saying,’ Joe told him. ‘I’ll watch my back.’
‘Good. And if you need a hand, you know where I am.’
Thirty
LEON WAS BACK home by half past nine, in a sour mood that he couldn’t quite explain.
Last night, once the business with Alise was concluded, the clean-up had been assigned to Fenton. Leon and Cadwell drove to Bude, booked into a hotel, ate a late meal in the restaurant and then visited a couple of bars, making sure that plenty of people saw them.
Probably not necessary, but Leon was a firm believer in taking precautions. As it was, he had a nagging sensation that this was a misstep, and would come back to haunt him.
Fenton met him in the hall. ‘You look as shitty as I feel,’ Leon said. ‘Are we all clean?’