Hull, June 1986
Don Ridley walked into Queens Gardens Police Station. The mother of the Bancroft brothers was waiting for him. He asked what he could do for her.
She stood up. ‘I need to report my son missing.’
‘Which one?’
‘Andrew.’
Ridley nodded and led her out towards Queens Gardens, found an empty bench and sat down. ‘Shall we start at the beginning before we go back in there and make it official? How long’s he been missing for?’
‘Two days now.’
‘Have you spoken to his friends?’
‘All of them. No one’s heard from him.’
‘What about your Gary? What does he have to say?’
‘I don’t see much of him. He took a job somewhere in the Midlands. Just went off one day. One of his friends fixed it up for him. He sends cards.’ She lit a cigarette. ‘It’s not asking a lot to expect a call every now and again, is it?’
‘I suppose not. Do you think Andrew’s taken himself off for a break?’
‘He told me he was skint. Spent it all on that girlfriend of his.’ She looked at Ridley and blew smoke in his direction. ‘He left his toothbrush. If you’re going away, you don’t leave your toothbrush behind, do you?’
Ridley agreed that it wasn’t rational behaviour. ‘I thought he was working for Frank Salford?’ She took a drag on her cigarette but didn’t answer. ‘It was an observation,’ Ridley said. ‘That’s all.’
She ground her cigarette out on the bench arm. ‘He told me it was quiet, but he had something on the go.’
‘What did he have on the go?’
‘He didn’t say.’
‘Didn’t you ask?’
‘It’s his business, not mine.’
It was fair enough. They both knew what her son was. He didn’t need her to say any more.
Ridley walked upstairs to the CID office, nodding greetings to the people he knew. The board at the front of the room contained details of a murder enquiry. On it were photographs of the victim. The one to the left had been taken with his family during a caravan holiday. The one to the right had been taken of him following his death. The man had suffered a violent assault before his death. Notes were stuck to the board, mainly details of known movements and associates.
Holborn’s space was marked out with partition walls. He walked over to where Ridley was standing. He pointed to the photographs with his mug of tea. ‘It happens to scum. You should know that. A lucky find really. A dog walker in the area had spotted the body. Whoever slung him out with the rubbish hadn’t even been bothered enough to do it properly.’
‘Where?’
‘Don’t be concerning yourself with big boys’ work, Don.’
Ridley walked towards Holborn’s office. ‘I want a word.’
Holborn followed him in. ‘Watch the game last night?’
‘Can’t say I did.’
‘Load of shit, really. I don’t know if I hate that cunt Maradona more for cheating or that cunt Shilton for not stopping it.’
Ridley ignored the football talk and got down to the reason he was there. ‘Andrew Bancroft is missing.’
Holborn sat down and smiled. ‘And why should I give a shit about that?’
‘Given that he works for your mate, Salford, I thought you might be concerned?’
‘Close the door.’
Ridley did as he was told and sat down. He looked at the photograph of Holborn with his wife and son on his desk. It had been taken in London, next to Big Ben.
‘Spit it out, Don.’
Ridley leaned in closer. ‘What do you know about Bancroft’s disappearance?’
‘Why would I know anything about it?’
‘Because he was working for Frank Salford.’
Holborn picked up his mug of tea. ‘I repeat, Don. So what?’
‘You’re in Salford’s pocket.’
Holborn stared hard at him. ‘Say that again?’
‘You heard me the first time.’
‘I suggest you think very carefully about that type of accusation, Don. Saying things like that could get you into a lot of trouble with the wrong type of people.’
‘Like who?’
Holborn shrugged. ‘I’m not best pleased with it for a start.’
‘No?’
‘Not in the slightest.’
‘Bancroft’s mother isn’t going to let this go.’
‘A grown man goes missing? Why would we give a shit? Happens every day.’ Holborn smiled. ‘It’s been nice catching up, Don, but here’s a word to the wise. Keep the fuck out of my way, alright?’
Ridley readied himself to leave. ‘I’ll be looking for Andrew Bancroft.’
‘And I wish you the best of luck with that, Don, I really do, but I don’t think you’re in any position to take the moral high-ground with me. I know you, Don, and I know what you are.’ Holborn walked to the door and opened it. ‘Andrew Bancroft was scum. He won’t be missed. Do yourself a favour and take the hint. Fuck off out of here and let it go.’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I woke up on my settee. I was firmly back in the habit of sleeping in the living room, worrying about my problems. And seeing as I was sleeping on what was effectively Connor’s bed, it was clear he’d spent the night at his girlfriend’s. I eased myself up and stretched. I could already feel the effect of the night on my back. I slowly moved into the kitchen and poured myself a glass of water. Things were going from bad to worse with George Sutherland. And today was going to rake up things which I didn’t really want to think about. I had no choice, though. Coleman had sent me a text message. He’d arranged for us to speak with Dave Johnson at eleven o’clock. HMP Hull Prison. I felt sick at the thought.
I had time to make one last attempt to sort things out before the meeting with Johnson. I walked into the city centre, hoping the fresh air would help me think and prepare for what was to come. It didn’t. My car was where I’d left it. I drove to the park. If you didn’t look down at the dog shit and broken glass on the path, it was a pleasant enough place. A row of unused football pitches stood next to what was once an outdoor five-a-side court. Now it was covered in graffiti. The cafe was closed, seemingly abandoned.
I walked around the immaculately tended square of grass where Don was bowling with three of his friends. They were all dressed in regulation white. He was crouched down, feeling the weight of the bowl in his hand, working out the force he needed to put behind the delivery. He released it and followed its flight down the green. I stood close to the jack and waited for Don to straighten up. When he did, it was obvious I wasn’t a welcome guest.
‘I need a word,’ I said.
He knew I wasn’t going away. He nodded to the benches which lined the duck pond. ‘Give me a couple of minutes.’
I walked over and made myself comfortable. A small girl was with her grandmother, feeding the ducks. She screeched with delight as the birds circled, waiting for her to throw the bread to them. For a moment, I forgot about my problems.
Don sat down next to me and crashed me back into the present.
‘Sarah’s not happy,’ I said. ‘She wants to know what’s going on. You should tell her.’
‘I’ve already told you. I’m not going to do that and nor am I going to help you with your wild goose chase about Andrew Bancroft.’
‘Things have changed.’
‘I doubt it, Joe.’
‘Bancroft’s mother said you spoke to Alan Palmer.’
‘It was a long time ago. I’ve really got no idea.’
‘Sure about that?’
‘Perfectly sure.’
I sighed. It was like talking to myself. ‘This really is your last chance to tell me.’
‘Tell you what?’
‘Whatever you know about Andrew Bancroft.’
‘We’ve been through this.’
‘Are you being blackmailed?’
Don laughed and shook his head. ‘Is that the best you can do?’
I told him about the DVD I’d found in Sutherland’s office. ‘Will I find any more surprises in that pile?’
‘Chance would be a fine thing these days. Get a grip of yourself.’
I continued anyway. ‘Is that why Millfield wanted your help?’
‘Maybe he’s just stupid and doesn’t know when he has a good thing? Have you considered that?’
I had no answer to his suggestion.
‘Whatever it is, you leave him be,’ Don said.
We sat in silence and watched as the young girl was led away from the duck pond. ‘I’m desperate,’ I said.
‘Aren’t we all?’
‘Sutherland has come up with a plan for me to repay Niall’s debt.’ I didn’t tell him what it entailed. All I told him was that I didn’t want to go through with the plan. ‘I’m scared.’ It was a truth I wouldn’t have said to many people. But Don had been my mentor, the one person who’d taken a chance on me when I’d needed it. I hoped he’d understand.
‘I don’t want to hear it, Joe.’
‘What are you scared of?’
‘I’m an old man I’m not scared of anything.’
I had nothing more to say to him. His police background made him more than a match for me. I told him I was going to speak to Dave Johnson.
He was unable to keep the look of surprise off his face. ‘Johnson?’
I nodded. ‘Coleman’s taking me to see him.’
‘After what he did?’
I didn’t need Don to say it. I knew no good would come out of the situation for me. I was focusing on the fact it might help Niall. ‘He knows something about Andrew Bancroft’s disappearance. He’s already mentioned George Sutherland.’
‘You can’t trust scum like Johnson to tell you the truth.’
‘I know.’ I’d thought it over the previous night. I would have to control my emotions when I spoke to Johnson. I couldn’t let my hatred of the man overpower me, or only hear what I wanted to.
‘And you can’t trust Coleman, either. He’s only in it for himself.’
That much was true, too. I couldn’t disagree with him on that point, but I had to throw my lot in with someone.
Don slowly straightened himself up. ‘Rather than you coming here to tell me it’s my last chance, you should think of this as being your last chance to drop it all.’ I remained sitting. He looked down on me. ‘Go to the police and tell them what your brother’s done. You’re not stupid. You can work a deal out with them and drop all this nonsense.’
I stood up and faced him. ‘Don’t you think I would if I could? Do you think I’m enjoying doing this?’
Don looked at me, like he was weighing my last question up.
I had one last roll of the dice. ‘I saw Sutherland at your house.’ I took a breath and told him about Connor’s role with the cigarettes. And how Sutherland had beaten him for it.
Don’s poker face held. He eventually shook his head and started walking back to his bowls match.
I reached for my mobile and called Gary Bancroft. It was tight, but I had time before speaking to Dave Johnson. I’d stored his number when he’d made contact with me. I glanced across to Don before leaving. He’d edged away from his friends and was staring back at me. I held his stare and I waited for Bancroft to answer. When he did, I turned away from Don. ‘I need another word,’ I said.
‘I’m on my way to the office.’ I was confused. Bancroft laughed when I didn’t say anything. ‘I’m signing on.’
‘Where?’
‘I’m in town. Meet me at Admiral of the Humber. You know it?’
I said I did. It was a Wetherspoon's pub on the corner of Carr Lane, next to the bingo hall.
‘I want an all-day breakfast, too.’
I found Bancroft sitting in a booth by himself. He didn’t have a drink. As I approached, he told me he wanted a pint of lager. He shouted a reminder about the food as I headed for the bar. I didn’t want either. I hadn’t eaten today, but there was no chance of doing so before I’d spoken with Dave Johnson.
I sat back down at the table and passed him the laminated card with an order number on it. ‘It won’t be long.’
He put the card down and shrugged before picking up the pint of lager I’d bought him.
‘I had another chat with your mum,’ I said.
He eyed me suspiciously and put his pint down. ‘You don’t want to pay too much attention to what she says.’
‘She said Alan Palmer gave her some money when your brother disappeared.’
That got his attention. He played for time and took another mouthful of lager. I didn’t take my eyes off him.
‘I don’t remember,’ he eventually said. ‘I wasn’t around much then.’
‘Your mum was pretty sure Alan Palmer worked for Frank Salford.’
Bancroft shrugged. ‘Maybe.’
‘That’s definitely what happened.’
‘So what?’
I was pleased to be getting under his skin with my questions. The waitress brought his all-day breakfast over. He took his time applying ketchup. He was stalling me again. I could read him like a book. I waited until he picked up a slice of toast. ‘Why did he give her the money?’
Bancroft put his toast down. ‘Maybe he wanted to help out?’
‘Seems unlikely to me.’
He shrugged and took another mouthful of his pint. ‘She never looked a gift-horse in the mouth.’
‘What did your brother do for Salford?’
He picked his toast back up. ‘Never really spoke about it. Bit of this, bit of that. Probably did what he was told to do.’
‘Just following orders?’
He took a bite and nodded. ‘I reckon so.’
I leaned in across the table. ‘Try a bit harder.’ I took the toast out of his hand. ‘We’re talking about your brother.’
Bancroft snatched the toast back. I’d rattled him. He was a man with a short fuse. He took a breath and composed himself before emptying his pint glass. He smiled. ‘I’ll take another one of them.’
I went to the bar and watched as he continued to eat his food. He was doing his best to keep a lid on his temper, but I was needling him. I returned to the table and changed my line of attack. ‘If your brother went away, why didn’t he take his toothbrush?’
He sneered at me. ‘You shouldn’t listen to everything my mam says. It’s easy enough to buy another.’
‘Did Palmer say that your brother had gone away?’ I sat back. ‘I bet he did and you took the money without asking any questions.’
Bancroft jabbed his fork at me. ‘You know nothing, so I suggest you watch your mouth.’
I checked the time. ‘I’m talking to Dave Johnson soon. You’ll remember him? He was Frank Salford’s number two. He’s going to have stories to tell.’
Bancroft picked up his pint and drank it off in one. He didn’t take his eyes off me. He stood up.
‘Aren’t you going to finish your food?’ I said.
He shook his head and pushed his chair back in. ‘My brother disappeared and he isn’t coming back. That’s all you need to know.’
I sent Coleman a text message to say I’d be at my brother’s bar when he was ready for me. Niall was working on his laptop when I walked in. He didn’t acknowledge me. I coughed to get his attention. He relented and looked up. ‘You can be angry if you want, but we need to talk,’ I said.
Niall stopped what he was doing. ‘I’ve got nothing to say.’
He’d said some unpleasant things to me, too, but I’d put them to one side and carried on anyway. I told him I had news on the cigarettes. I took the printout from my pocket and held it out to him.
He took it from me and read through the information before holding it back out to me. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘We sail on tomorrow night’s Zeebrugge ferry. George Sutherland wants to go over with a van to make a collection.’ Niall stared at me. I could tell he was scared. ‘I don’t want to go, either,’ I said. ‘It’s a bad idea.�
�� I was about to say something more when Coleman appeared.
He said the place was looking good before walking over to study the display of my dad’s rugby memorabilia.
Niall spoke. ‘How’s Connor?’
‘He’s fine,’ I said.
‘His mum was asking.’
‘Right.’
Coleman walked back over to us. ‘I didn’t realise,’ he said. ‘Quite a player.’
‘Can’t argue with that,’ I said.
‘Fancy a drink before we go?’
I shook my head. ‘I’m ready.’
Niall asked where we were going.
‘You don’t want to know.’
Coleman pulled up in the prison car park. I took a deep breath and stepped out. I looked up at the imposing Victorian building. It was grim and unwelcoming. No doubt that was the point.
‘Ever been inside?’ Coleman asked me.
I said I hadn’t.
He nodded to the Visitors' Entrance. It was a discreet door next to where the prison vans drove in an out. ‘Ready?’
‘As I’ll ever be.’
We passed slowly through the security checks with Coleman nodding greetings as we moved forward. We were led through a series of corridors, well away from the actual prisoners. The more we walked, the more I was aware of the feeling of being caged in. The prison was playing tricks with my mind. We came to a stop outside a featureless room. The prison officer opened the door and said Johnson would be along shortly. Inside there was a table and three chairs. Nothing else. Not even a window. Coleman rearranged the chairs. Johnson would be sitting on one side of the table, Coleman and myself on the other.
The Crooked Beat Page 15