Get Cartwright

by Tom Graham

  ‘Well …’ said Harry in a weak voice. ‘It’s how coppers think, isn’t it? I knew you wouldn’t like it. But you promised not to hit me!’

  ‘Carroll came to you to get in touch with Gould,’ Sam said, piecing it all together in his mind. ‘And you spoke to Gould, didn’t you.’

  Harry nodded.

  ‘But you tipped him off about what Carroll and the others were planning.’

  Wretchedly, Harry nodded again.

  ‘Why?’ Sam asked.

  ‘Stupid question, Tyler,’ Gene growled. ‘It’s like I told you, he’s their kind not ours. Villainy’s in his blood. He’s always going to side with the scum of the earth instead of the angels.’

  ‘The scum of the earth tends to pay better,’ Harry said.

  Gene thought about this, and conceded that it was probably true.

  ‘So you sold out Carroll and the others,’ said Sam. ‘And now they’re dead.’

  ‘All I did was have a word in his ear, you can’t pin them deaths on me!’ Harry pleaded.

  ’So – where’s Gould now?’

  ‘Timbuktu, if he’s got any sense,’ said Harry. ‘He just killed three ex-coppers!’

  Four, Sam corrected him silently, thinking of McClintock.

  He stood over Harry Earles and said, ‘You swear to me you don’t know where Gould is?’

  ‘I swear it, sir. On my daughter’s life, I swear it.’

  Harry Earles looked up at Sam with big, round, pleading eyes.

  ‘Then I’ll take you at your word, Mr Earles,’ Sam said. ‘But one more thing before we go. You said all this kicked off when a female officer started asking questions. Surely, to be safe, Gould needs her out of the way too, yes?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Harry said, slumping against a wall. He looked utterly defeated. ‘All this killing, I never had the belly for it. I just wanted to drive.’

  ‘Are Gould and his boys going after this female officer?’ Sam asked. He stared hard at Earles, willing him to speak the truth.

  Earles looked at him fearfully, then nodded his head.

  That was enough for Sam. He had to find Annie before Gould and his henchmen did. And once he had found her, all he had to do was wait. He did not need to chase after Gould for the final showdown. The final showdown would come to him.

  Sam turned and strode out of the lock-up, leaving Harry Earles sprawled amid his oily wreckage.

  Gene carefully dropped the monkey wrench back where he’d found it and, before sauntering out, said, ‘Much obliged, Harry, you’ve been very helpful. Break a leg in the race tonight – if my colleague hasn’t just broken it for you.’

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: IT’S COMPLICATED

  Gene demanded a conducive place to do some serious thinking, so he roared the Cortina into the car park of a grim-looking pub called the Four Feathers.

  ‘Don’t let the exterior décor give you the wrong impression, Tyler,’ he said, throwing open the door to clamber out. ‘The Feathers is a quality establishment. A refuge for the pensive mind. A cloister for cogitation. I’ve cogitated in there a few times meself. And besides, the lass serving’s got nabookas right out to here.’

  ‘What about Annie?’

  ‘Well she ain’t got nabookas worth writing home about. Your bird always makes me think of pancake day.’

  ‘What I mean is, Guv, we don’t have time for a drink.’

  ‘Oh yes, we do. Well, I do. And since I’m the guv’nor that pretty much clinches it. Every copper needs to wet his whistle, Tyler. You should know that.’

  Sam sighed and followed Gene across the car park towards the grubby, rundown boozer. There was a badly hand-painted sign propped outside promising ‘exotic dancers’ every Thursday, and an amateur darts tournament on Saturday night.

  Inside, the place was dull and smoky, with unwashed pint glasses and full ashtrays cluttering the sticky tables. Sam looked across at the clapped-out snooker table, the battered one-armed bandit flashing away silently to itself in the corner, the dart board with its drink-stained distance mat on the floor beneath it. It was all so wretched. He didn’t find the atmosphere at all favourable to deep thought and concentration. But Gene was at least right about the barmaid.

  ‘Hello, luv,’ Gene intoned, planting himself manfully at the bar. ‘You’re looking bonny. How are the twins?’

  ‘Perking up now you’ve come in,’ the barmaid simpered back. She glanced over Gene’s shoulder. ‘Here, you never told me you had a son.’

  ‘Yes, well, I don’t like to broadcast it, seeing how he’s turned out. Takes after his mother. Same hair. That’s the last time I boff a lezza, I can tell you. It don’t cure ’em but you can but try. Two pints of your finest, love, and a cop of the melons if you’re feeling obliging.’

  Sam had no stomach to listen to this stuff, not today. He turned his back on Gene, his head full of fears about Annie. Where was she? Was she safe there? Was Gould already on her trail? Was he closing in on her? Had he found her already?

  He winced, the thought of what might have already happened to her too painful to bear.

  Have faith in her. Have faith that she can look after herself – at least until we find her. You have no choice, Sam. You just have to believe.

  A radio was playing behind the bar. It was off the station, but shining through the static came the young, clear voice of Karen Carpenter singing ‘Yesterday Once More’. The feelings of warmth and nostalgia that it evoked were almost too much to stand. The song conjured a world of domestic safety, cosiness, innocence – all the things in the world that Clive Gould was not. How could such a song emerge from world as wicked and hopeless as this one? When Annie teetered on the very precipice of hell, how could Karen Carpenter find it in her to sing about listening to her favourite songs on the radio, about happy times not so long ago, about old tunes coming back like long lost friends?

  Or was it because the world had such terrible darkness in it that it demanded simple songs be sung, innocent pleasures be celebrated?

  Sam let Karen Carpenter’s voice flow through him, a reminder of better times, better places, that not all the world was corrupt. And yet still the shadow of Clive Gould fell across his heart. What was driving that man so remorselessly? Why would he go to such terrible lengths to reach out across the universe and sink his claws into Annie Cartwright? Could he not bear to spend eternity alone in whatever foul and unimaginable place was allotted to him? Was there unfinished business between the two of them? Was there something, some perceived crime against him, for which he was determined Annie would be punished?

  Don’t let this stuff overwhelm you, Sam told himself. Stay focused. Stay sharp.

  He turned round and saw Gene openly ogling the barmaid’s chest.

  ‘A fella could lose his specs in there,’ the Guv was saying.

  ‘That’s not all he could lose,’ she breathed back, fluttering her blue-painted eyelids.

  ‘Guv, is this what you call cogitating?’ Sam cut in.

  Gene gave a what can you do with ’em, eh? look to the barmaid and said, ‘Excuse me, treasure. His nappy needs changing.’

  He handed Sam a pint and they sat together at one of the filthy, rickety tables.

  ‘Sorry if I’m not being the life and soul of the party just at the moment, Guv,’ Sam said in a tight voice. ‘I got things on my mind – like the fact that Annie’s in line to be murdered by Clive Gould and his pack of thugs.’

  ‘She’s got sense enough to do a bunk and keep her head down,’ said Gene, quaffing deep from his pint and then licking away the froth moustache. ‘And she can handle herself in a fight. Ask Ray.’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake, that was just a one-off and you know it! Ray was spoiling for a punch-up, and when he got it he got more than he bargained for.’

  Gene shrugged and nodded: ‘You’re not wrong, Tyler. But I’m not having her back. I’ll look for her, I’ll protect her, just like I would any other dopy lass in trouble – but she remains well and truly fired.’
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  ‘I don’t care about that, I just want her safe. I can’t think of anything else at the moment.’

  ‘No,’ said Gene quietly, without irony. ‘Of course not.’

  ‘How are we going to find her? There’s got to be a lead somewhere, she can’t have just disappeared! Somebody knows! Somebody’s seen her!’

  ‘We’re CID, Sam. Leads are our forte. We’ll find her.’

  ‘Not sitting here we won’t, Guv.’

  ‘We might be sitting here, but Chris and Ray are back in the office pounding the phones or whatever.’

  Sam looked flatly at Gene and said, ‘My heart doesn’t leap with hope.’

  ‘Perhaps it should. Perhaps you should have more faith in people other than just yourself and your bird.’ Gene jangled the loose change in his pocket and slapped a handful of coins down on the table. ‘Enough for a call. I think I’ll check on the boys, see if they’ve picked up any leads yet.’

  There was a much-abused payphone perilously close to the dart board. Gene dialled the direct line to CID, waited for the pips, then shoved a couple of ten pence pieces into the slot.

  ‘Ray, it’s your lord and master. What’s occurring?’

  Annie. Sam mouthed. What news on Annie?

  Gene listened to Ray’s voice, then turned to Sam and shook his head.

  Sam sighed and slumped against the wall. He felt powerless, like a knight in armour who’s missed the battle. He wracked his brain, trying to think where Annie might have gone to. Would she stay fairly local? Would she head across to Liverpool, or maybe down south to London? Had she left the country altogether, skipping across the water to Ireland, or east to the Continent? One location was as likely as any other. Sam would be forced to scour the whole face of the earth to find her.

  Gene hung up the phone and turned to him.

  ‘Your bird might have been a wash-out as a copper but she’d make a first-rate assassin, Tyler. She’s vanished. Completely. Like a cheeky fart in a gale.’

  CCTV would have picked her up. Her mobile could have been tracked. If she used her cash card to buy a ticket, it would all be logged and monitored.

  But none of that applied here. This wasn’t 2006. It was the bloody dark ages. Sam punched the wall in frustration.

  ‘I told you Chris and Ray wouldn’t be any use,’ Sam said through gritted teeth. ‘I told you they’d be worse than useless! And look at us! Sitting on our arses in this crap-hole when we should be out there looking for her!’

  ‘Buck up, sparky,’ Gene encouraged him. ‘If we can’t find her, what chance do you think Gould’s got?’

  ‘He’ll find her, Guv. Rest assured, he’ll find her.’

  ‘What makes you say that? Or are you going to tell me yet again that it’s too complicated to explain?’

  ‘It is complicated!’ Sam snapped at him. ‘It’s … It’s bloody complicated!’

  ‘Mmm,’ mused Gene. ‘That’s your get out of jail free card, ain’t it, Tyler. Anything you don’t want to divulge to Great Uncle Genie, you just blather about and throw your hands up and go, Ohhhhhh, it’s so COMPLICATED, Guv!’

  Sam turned on him angrily and said: ‘All right then. You’re dead, I’m dead, this place ain’t real, and Gould wants to drag Annie off to hell.’

  Gene looked blankly at him for a moment. Then, at length, he said, ‘Keep your rug on, Marjorie, there’s no call to get sarky.’

  Sam paced round in a circle, kicking his heel.

  ‘There’s GOT to be a lead somewhere!’ he hissed, running his hands through his hair. ‘She can’t have just vanished. Somebody saw her. Somebody knows where’s she got to.’

  ‘Maybe it’s best no one knows. Safer that way. Anyway, since we ain’t going to track her down in a hurry, I suggest we work with what information we do have.’

  ‘And what’s that, Guv?’

  ‘Well, first up, we know Gould’s on our patch somewhere. Leastways, he was until very recently. Them bodies in the kiddies’ playground were still pretty fresh. And we know that he’s as keen to track Annie down as we are. So sooner or later, he’ll make a move that’ll give away his position and we can home in on him.’

  Sam shook his head. Things weren’t that simple.

  ‘And then there’s McClintock,’ Gene went on. ‘Gould zapped him, you reckon?’

  ‘I have it on good authority.’

  ‘Why would he do that?’

  ‘Because he tried to …’ Sam hesitated, looking for the right words. ‘He tried to arrest Gould. Just take my word for it Guv, he had every reason to want Gould stopped.’

  Gene shrugged: ‘Fair enough. We could do worse than turn his gaff over and see if anything tasty turns up.’

  ‘It’s possible. But we don’t know where McClintock lived.’

  ‘Ah, but we do. Ray just told me. He found it in McClintock’s Home Office records. He’s got a bonny wee bothy out in Trawden.’

  ‘Trawden?’ said Sam. ‘Guv, I don’t see what good it’s going to do trekking all the way out there. It’s out past Burnley, for God’s sake.’

  ‘Fresh air might do you good,’ shrugged Gene. ‘Hills. Dales. Sheep. Local in-breds. It’s what posey twats like you call goin’ on ’oliday, ain’t it?’

  ‘We’re not going to find anything at McClintock’s place, Guv. It’s a red herring. What counts is Annie. We have to find her before Gould and his mob do.’

  ‘But we can’t find her, can we, midge-brain!’ Gene glowered at him. ‘And until we get a whiff of her (now there’s a ghastly image) we got to keep ourselves happily occupied looking for clues that may be of assistance. It’s called “being a copper”. Trust me, Sammy boy, I’ve had training. So – drink up, we’re off to Trencher’s Farm.’

  ‘Guv, please, we don’t have time to waste going off to ... Hold up. Where did you just say?’

  ‘McClintock’s place,’ said Gene. ‘It’s called Trencher’s Farm, out at Trawden.’

  His dream last night. The letter that had come for Annie, the one she wouldn’t open because her hands were covered in flour.

  ‘The return address just says “Trencher’s”. Where’s that?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know, darling. I don’t have time for this, I’m up to my elbows in pastry.’

  At once, Sam got his feet. ‘Right. Let’s roll.’

  In a voice of utter contempt, Gene sneered: ‘Let’s roll ...?! I put up with a lot from you, Tyler, but I draw the line at you carrying on like some bloody Yank.’

  ‘Let’s move!’ Sam cried, clapping his hands as if to wake Gene up. ‘Get that Cortina agitating some gravel, Gene, or I’ll get them keys off you and fire her up myself.’

  ‘And leave two pints on the table? You must be halfway mentalist!’

  Gene downed his drink in one cavernous swallow, like a whale. Then he downed Sam’s and slammed down the empty glass.

  ‘All clear!’ he announced, licking his lips and patting his belly. ‘Right – let’s go drivin’!’ And as he strode past the barmaid he shot at her with a finger pistol, saying: ‘Ulysses will return! Catch you later, you two,’ and ogled shamelessly at her breasts.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN: DEATH OF A CORTINA

  Gene stamped on the gas and the Cortina roared away, out past the city limits of Manchester, heading north towards Accrington. They veered to the east, tearing through Padiham, Burnley, Brierfield, until, as the day waned, they reached the Forest of Trawden. Here they left that main thoroughfare and began taking the unmarked country roads.

  Rolling countryside surrounded them, washed with the fading light of the setting sun. For Sam, it was like they had driven into an episode of Last of the Summer Wine; it was all winding roads, dry stone walls, grazing sheep. Here and there, farm houses were visible, standing alone or little clusters amid the open country.

  ‘How do we find McClintock’s place?’ Sam asked, peering about. ‘It could be any one of these farmsteads.’

  Ridiculous though it was, some deep down part of him was hoping he would
catch a glimpse of Annie, safe and sound, clambering over a stile maybe, or heading across one of the fields.

  ‘Ray said it’s off a road called Mill Lane,’ said Gene, cruising along, a fag in his gob.

  ‘Okay, so where’s Mill Lane?’

  ‘Get somebody on the blower and find out.’

  Sam picked up the police-band radio receiver from the dashboard and twiddled the dials.

  ‘This is eight-seven-zero calling control, can you read me control, over.’

  Static.

  ‘Phyllis? Can you read me, over?’

  Through the hiss came broken fragments of Phyllis’s voice.

  ‘Yes, boss, I’m ----ding you. But you k--------eaking up -----'

  ‘You’re breaking up too,’ Sam said loudly and clearly into the radio. ‘Get a message to Ray and Chris. We need their help. We’re in Trawden, but we’re having serious trouble finding an address. Tell them we need them to give us that address. Hello? Are getting this, Phyllis?’

  ‘--------eed help------serious trouble--- Oh, heck, this f--king signal’s worse than a f------!’

  Phyllis’s voice was drowned by a sea of static. Sam adjusted the dial.

  ‘Hello? Phyllis? Do you read me?’

  Hopeless. Sam gave up, cursing under his breath.

  ‘We must be out of range, Guv,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, bravo, Wilf Lunn, thank God you’re here to tell us these things.’

  ‘Why didn’t you get a proper fix on the location before we set off?’

  ‘Well, why didn’t you?’

  ‘Because, Guv, I thought you knew where we were going!’

  ‘I do!’ Gene yelled. ‘We’re going to Trencher’s bloody Farm! Off Mill Lane! Somewhere in Yorkshire!’

  Sam punched the dashboard in frustration.

  ‘Mind my dash!’ Gene snapped at him.

  ‘Bugger your dash. Why haven’t you got ruddy satnav like any other human being?’

  ‘I was inoculated against it as a nipper.’

  Sam ran his hand anxiously through his hair. ‘You really should have got all the details from Ray, Guv, you really should. And look how dark it’s getting. We’ll never find this place blundering about in the dead of night.’