Sam didn't want to reveal anything about recent developments. Moira would worry if she found out he had been attacked in his own home. However, she wasn't the type to be fobbed off so easily.
'A lot on?' she said, looking Sam straight in the eye. 'Is that how you got that bruise on your forehead?'
Sam shrugged.
'You didn't sound yourself when you answered the door just now, either,' added Moira. 'You sounded as though you were expecting trouble.'
He couldn't resist a smile.
'Moira, you really would make a great private investigator.'
Moira wasn't smiling.
'Who are you in bother with, Sam?'
Sam sighed glumly.
'It's turning out to be one of those cases.'
Moira patted his hand.
'I tell you what, I will stay a bit after all. You switch the heating on, and I'll fill the kettle up. You can tell me all about it over a cup of tea.'
Sam rolled his eyes as Moira disappeared into the kitchen. There was a time for confiding in Moira. This wasn't one of them.
Once again, the intercom buzzed. Sam wasn't surprised to hear the dulcet tones of Detective Inspector Robins. Clear as crystal, this time, to his relief somewhat.
'Mr Carlisle, I've got a couple of detectives here who want a word with you. You can take a look out the window if you want...given what happened before.'
Sam wandered into his living room. Robins' tone had been deadly serious, his voice bristling with irritation. Sam gazed out of the window. Robins was on the pavement, having stepped back so Sam could see him. Next to Robins stood a suited man. A third man was withdrawing his palm from the bonnet of Sam's Capri. Sam was wise to the trick. His car was being checked to see if the engine was still warm. He hoped it had cooled down sufficiently in the inclement conditions.
He went downstairs and opened the front door rather than using the intercom. Robins nodded grimly while the two newcomers flashed their badges. Sam ushered them all inside. Back in his flat, none of them accepted his offer of a seat.
Robins cleared his throat.
'Mr Carlisle, this is DI Jones and DI Smith of the East Anglian Serious Crimes Squad. They're heading the investigation into Danny Findlay's death and Hope Findlay's disappearance. They've got some questions for you.'
Sam was sure they had plenty to ask. He watched Robins take a small step backwards, allowing his fellow detectives centre stage. Sam couldn't miss the look of disappointment on his face. Robins knew Sam was as guilty as hell of disobeying his orders to keep his nose out.
'Mr Carlisle, we have reason to believe you were in the vicinity of Roger Carpenter's house today. Now, DI Robins has already told us how co-operative you have been with him. I hope you'll be as honest with us.'
Co-operative? Honest? Sam didn't recognise himself. He returned the earnest stare of the tall, fair-haired detective who had addressed him. Smith or Jones. Sam didn't care which. He was sure these were the two officers who had visited Roger Carpenter's house. The men who had pursued him from the property.
'I think you've got the wrong person, gentlemen. Why would I be hanging around that man's house?'
Smith or Jones pulled a face.
'DI Robins told us about the attack on you here in this flat...your involvement in the death of Danny Findlay. You have a vested interest in this case...personal reasons to ensure justice is done.'
Sam let out a sigh.
'Which is why I readily handed over all the information I had to the police. I've washed my hands of it.'
Sam hoped he looked as convincing as he sounded. The men studying him looked far from reassured. The other detective, slightly shorter than his colleague, stepped forward to take up the baton.
'Look, Mr Carlisle, a man was seen lurking around Mr Carpenter's property today.'
'Oh?'
'A friend of Mr Carpenter's was driving past and spotted someone outside the house.'
'Very convenient,' mumbled Sam, wondering why the occupant of the Jaguar had Roger Carpenter's mobile phone number.
'What was that?' asked the detective, eyeing Sam suspiciously.
'Nothing,' replied Sam. 'Did you get a description of this man?'
The detective paused and glanced at his partner. The simple gesture told Sam they were unsure. They hadn't managed a good look at him. Nor had they got a description from the lorry driver. Sam wondered how much longer his luck could hold out.
'The man ran off, got into a car and fled the scene. His vehicle was very similar to the black Capri parked outside. Is that your car, Mr Carlisle?'
Sam confirmed it was and waited for any mention of someone trespassing in Lintons estate agents. Then he had a thought. If someone was tracking him, they must have picked up his tail from his car, in turn leading them to where he lived. Now, who had seen his Capri at close quarters? He had given Diego Albiol a lift in it. And Jake Dawkins had taken a very personal interest in the vehicle.
'Can you confirm your whereabouts today, Mr Carlisle?'
Sam returned his attention to the matter in hand. Trying to talk his way out of this particularly tight corner.
'I've been here all day,' he replied. 'I haven't-'
A jovial voice boomed out, cutting him short.
'That's right! He's been stuck with me discussing business for hours.'
The group of men turned as Moira walked into the room. Sam had forgotten all about her. She had two mugs of tea in one hand, a sheaf of documents in the other.
'Tenancy agreement!' she exclaimed, placing the mugs down, waving the papers under Sam's nose. 'Your contract for this place is next on the agenda.'
Sam took in the detective's expressions. Robins was staring at Moira in disbelief. The other two officers just looked plain confused. All three were lost for words in the face of this cast-iron alibi. Moira smiled innocently at them.
Sam wanted to give her a hug.
Chapter 19
Beneath the fading daylight, Sam found the Concrete Jungle completely deserted, as silent as the wispy snow dropping down lightly from the sky. He had searched every derelict building, scouring the former industrial estate for signs of Jake Dawkins. It didn't surprise him there was no-one at home. The police would have steamrollered the place under the tutelage of the Serious Crimes Squad. Anyone not taken down the station for questioning would be steering clear of the area for a while. Sam wondered where Jake was right now. He hoped the man hadn't gone to ground.
Walking back to his car, Sam got his phone out and punched in Roger Carpenter's number. Danny's uncle answered the phone almost immediately.
'Hello?'
Roger sounded uncertain. His phone would be showing an unknown caller.
'Mr Carpenter, this is the Serious Crimes Squad again. You were about to tell us...just before our urgent need to dash off...why Danny paid you a visit before his death.'
A few moments silence.
'My health has been bad for a few years,' responded Roger slowly. 'I haven't been able to work for some time. He wanted to check on me out of loyalty to his Aunt Rose.'
Sam doubted Danny had been that loyal. The statement Roger was out of work and suffering from ill-health interested him. If it was true, how had Roger afforded to upgrade his small cottage for a far more expensive property?
'And you put your home on Cherry Lane up for sale at the same time?'
'What has that got to do with anything?' answered Roger, barely restraining his irritation. Sam thought the tone spikier than necessary. The question had definitely touched a nerve. Sam decided to leave it there, informing Roger he would be notified of any further developments. He didn't want to antagonise the man to the point where he made a complaint. If that happened, the police would soon deduce it wasn't one of their own that had made the call.
***
Diego Albiol called out from behind the closed door.
'Who is it?'
Sam thought Diego sounded decidedly edgy.
'Diego, it's me, Sam
Carlisle. Why aren't you opening the door?'
Sam heard a bolt slide open on the other side. The door opened, but only so far. Diego had it on a chain. His face appeared through the narrow gap. He looked nervous and wary.
'Come in, Sam,' he said quietly, releasing the chain.
Sam walked into Diego's flat, wondering what was up. The answer stared back at him from the living-room wall. A single word, two feet high, daubed in red paint.
'GRASS'
Sam turned to Diego.
'When did this happen?' he asked.
Diego refused to look him in the eye.
'During the night,' he murmured. 'While I was at work.'
'Have you rung the police?'
Diego shook his head despondently, still gazing at the floor.
'When I got back, the first thing I did was ring someone to replace the lock on the door. They have only just gone.'
'Hence the added security,' nodded Sam grimly. 'Any idea who-'
Sam stopped himself. It was a pointless question. Diego was shaking his head again. He looked like the stuffing had been well and truly knocked out of him this time. Sam was struck by the same surge of guilt that had driven him to help Diego in the first place. Yet, this time, that guilt was tempered by something else. A sense of unease.
'Anything else damaged...or stolen?'
Diego finally raised his head. His eyes darted around the room.
'No,' he replied quietly.
'And you haven't seen anyone hanging around the flats?'
Diego shrugged.
'I have not seen anyone acting strange, but I do not know anyone here yet.'
He halted and gave Sam a heartfelt look.
'Sam, I feel like I have jumped out of the frying pan into the...'
Diego faltered for the right word.
'Fire,' said Sam, studying Diego closely.
'Huh?'
'Never mind,' said Sam, shaking his head, unable to think straight any more. The thought someone had tracked his car, followed him to his flat, then tailed him up and down the coast, not once but twice, was nagging away at him. And the simple fact was Diego's name had crossed his mind as a suspect.
Diego told Sam he needed to use the bathroom. Sam watched him slope off dejectedly. Would Diego have painted graffiti on his own wall to deflect attention from himself? It seemed such an implausible idea, yet Sam had seen stranger things.
Sam heard the toilet flush. He was struggling to decipher who was trustworthy and who wasn't. DI Robins? Diego? Then there was Jake Dawkins and Roger Carpenter. Those two were hardly exemplary characters, but were they involved in such major crimes as murder and kidnapping?
Diego returned to the room. Sam had to make a decision of sorts about him. He entertained the idea of offering him refuse in his own flat, contemplating it might be better to keep Diego where he could see him. However, his own home was hardly a safe haven right now, and if Diego was in cahoots with someone, Sam could be inviting more trouble.
And if he was innocent?
Then Sam had put him at risk. The statement on the wall made it clear what someone thought of Diego. He had been targeted for his association with Sam.
Who could have connected the pair?
Sam thought back to their escapade on the Concrete Jungle.
Everything kept coming back to Jake Dawkins.
Sam had made his mind up.
'Diego, I think-'
'Do not worry, Sam,' cut in Diego, smiling weakly. 'I will not let anybody drive me out of my home.'
Sam realised Diego was making the decision for him. It made him feel slightly uncomfortable, as though he was being given an easy way out.
'Are you sure?'
Diego nodded, gazing at the writing on his wall.
'This flat needs painting anyway. Now I have more reason to do it.'
Sam allowed himself a smile. The spirited young man he had encountered on their first meeting was back.
'Look, Diego, I don't know if this was the work of vandals, or the people behind Danny's death...'
Diego turned to Sam and gave him a hardened look.
'Vandals did not do this, Sam. We both know that.'
***
Outside Diego's flat, Sam received a message on his phone. Richie was too busy to call, but he had run the Jaguar's registration plate through the system.
It was stolen.
Sam had expected as much. Whoever was trying to scare him off had already proved their intelligence. They weren't going to slip up over something so trivial as a number plate.
Sam got in his car and drove the short distance to the beach. He walked along the damp sand, oblivious to the thick snowflakes buffering him, taking little notice of the sea as it roared loudly around him.
Sam sensed a different kind of storm brewing.
He extracted his phone again and punched in the number of Newgate police station. While he waited for an answer, he kept his eyes peeled, scrutinising the deserted beach front. Suddenly, he felt disappointed at his own vulnerability. Someone had followed him for some time and he had failed to notice. The thought irked him as much as the assault in his flat.
'Newgate police station?'
Sam cleared his throat.
'Hello, this is Donald Shaw, from Cowans, Mortimer, Morley and Shaw solicitors. We have reason to believe a client of ours is in your custody.'
Sam had used the cut-glass accent so common in the law profession. He had also allowed a brisk impatience to permeate his tone.
'Name?'
'Jake Dawkins.'
'Wait a minute.'
Sam was put on hold. He continued walking, forced to press his phone to his ear as the wind howled around him. Moments later, the call was taken off hold.
'We're not holding anyone of that name.'
Sam faked indignation.
'Well, this is the information passed on to me by the family!'
A disinterested sigh down the phone.
'Nobody by that name has been brought in recently. Now, if you don't mind...'
Sam ended the call and set off on the short walk to the Barton Arms.
***
'A whisky, please, Archie.'
Archie gave Sam a brief nod, located an empty glass and raised it to the optics.
'Something to ward off the cold, eh?'
'Yeah, any excuse,' grimaced Sam, glancing around to ensure nobody was within earshot. 'Archie, do you know where I might find anybody who knows Jake Dawkins?'
Archie placed the whisky down on the bar and gave Sam a mystified look.
'Like who?'
'I dunno. What about that cousin of his? The one who tried to help him out with a job?'
Archie started to ask why Sam wanted to know but thought better of it. He could see Sam was on a roll. There was little point stalling him in this mood.
'Vince? I think he's still running The Grapes on Coleridge Road. It's only-'
'The Grapes?' said Sam, knocking back his drink. 'I know it. Thanks, Arch. I'll catch you later.'
Then Sam was gone.
Archie watched the pub door swing shut and shook his head.
***
Tucked away in a corner of The Grapes, Sam gazed idly around him. It was a pleasant pub, maybe not as classy as Archie's, but a homely place nonetheless. It was more family-orientated than most. If Sam remembered correctly, the beer garden contained an extensive children's play area, and the function room at the back was a popular location for kid's parties.
The type of establishment that rarely saw an unsavoury scene.
Sam turned his attention to the staff behind the bar, in particular the short, mousey-haired man wearing a crisp white shirt and smart tie. Sam had been studying him for some time, noting how he served every customer with a genial smile and friendly small talk.
Vince Dawkins appeared to be the model pub landlord.
Sam continued to bide his time, supping his whisky patiently. He waited until Vince was alone at the bar then made hi
s move.
Vince was crouched down, out of sight, replenishing the shelf under the bar. Rising to his feet, he found Sam waiting in front of him, smiling amiably.
'Yes, sir, what can I get you?'
'A whisky,' replied Sam.
Vince nodded briskly.
'Anything else?' he asked, serving Sam his drink.
'I'd like to know where Jake Dawkins is...'
The words stopped Vince in his tracks. The colour drained out of his face, leaving it the same shade as his starched shirt.
'I haven't seen Jake in years,' he said quietly, watching Sam warily. 'I wouldn't know where he is, and I'm happy for it to stay that way.'
Sam reckoned that was probably true. However, the answer was no good to him.
'Vince, you seem like a pleasant chap, and I can believe you don't have anything to do with your scumbag of a cousin any more, but I have an urgent need to find him. A very urgent need.'
Vince fiddled with the collar of his shirt. Sam noticed his hands were trembling.
'Jake's always moved around a lot. I used to have trouble keeping track of his whereabouts when I did see him. Now, I wouldn't have a clue.'
Vince spread his hands out in resignation. His eyes flitted around the room, clearly worried this stranger was going to cause trouble in his pub. Sam turned sideways, leaned casually against the bar and let his eyes roam over the premises, the smile never leaving his face.
'This is a nice boozer you've got here, Vince. Business doing well, is it?'
Sam took no pleasure in threatening an innocent man. Still, needs must.
Vince hadn't missed the underlying menace in Sam's voice. He let out a deep sigh.
'I've heard he can be found in The Bird In Hand. Apparently, he sponges drinks off his cronies in there.'
Sam knocked back his drink and withdrew something out of his trouser pocket. Vince's eyes widened in fear.
'Thank you, Vince,' said Sam, placing money down on the bar. 'I promise never to darken your door again.'
For the second time that night, he made a swift exit.
***
Hands in pockets, ignoring the blizzard raging around him, Sam stood still across the road from The Bird In Hand. The next stop on this spontaneous pub crawl was going to be by far the most unpleasant. The Bird In Hand was the brick and mortar equivalent of Jake Dawkins, a nasty little place with a tendency to erupt into violence at any moment. It was tucked away in a back street halfway between Newgate town centre and the old docks, but regularly attracted the more undesirable from the latter area. It was a shabby joint. A number of its windows were boarded up or cracked, and the guttering was hanging off in places. Several motorbikes were lined up outside the pub. In the doorway, a young couple were getting amorous, oblivious to anyone who might be passing. The Bird In Hand seduced all sorts. Down-and-outs, fighters, drunks, drug-dealers, gamblers, pimps and more...
Searching For Hope Page 11