Sam approached it with relish.
Inside, he bought a drink and settled down with his back to the wall, picking a spot that allowed him a panoramic view of the pub. It was only half full at this early evening hour, and nobody had looked his way twice since he walked in. Strangers had always been welcome here. Those with something to sell even more so. It explained why the pub was always being closed down. There was no security, meaning infiltration was easy for the police. Yet too many dangerous individuals frequented the premises to take it lightly.
Sam watched two men in the corner furtively exchange small wraps. Next to them, a podgy man in an ill-fitting tracksuit leant back precariously against the ancient jukebox, inhaling deeply from a generous roll-up. Near the door, two sturdy men in leather jackets arm-wrestled, surrounded by a number of vociferous onlookers. Over by the bar, a slim woman dressed in a crop top, jeans and stilettos danced drunkenly by herself, her eyes closed, hands clasped tightly to her chest.
Sam saw the pub door open, and a familiar figure in a blue hooded jacket walked in. Jake Dawkins was immediately approached by two men. One of them thrust a drink into Jake's hand, and the three of them began talking. Jake hadn't looked over in Sam's direction yet.
Sam studied them. All three were unshaven, dressed in grubby clothes and looking in need of a good wash. They were also clearly drunk, wobbling unsteadily as they chatted. Sam felt his resentment for Jake Dawkins grow.
Controlled aggression was what the force had taught him.
Easier said than done at times.
With half his whisky remaining, Sam picked up the drink and headed towards Jake and his companions. A look of surprise spread across Jake's face when he spotted Sam. It changed to one of alarm when he realised Sam was heading straight for him. His friends, alerted by Jake's expression, followed his gaze. They studied Sam with mild curiosity.
Jake suddenly bolted, out the door in a flash. Sam started after him but found his path blocked by the other two men. They stared Sam down, daring him to push past them. The taller of the two opened his mouth.
'And where do you think you're going?' he sneered.
Sam couldn't hang around. He threw his whisky into the man's face, causing him to stagger backwards, rubbing furiously at his eyes. Sam helped him on his way with a forceful shove, sending him crashing heavily into the nearest table. The man lay groaning on the floor, clutching his back. Sam stared at him in annoyance.
He hated wasting good whisky.
The other man backed off. He looked down at his own glass and placed a hand over it protectively.
'A man after my own heart,' Sam told him, nodding at the glass.
Outside, he saw Jake Dawkins strolling up the road, hood up, hands shoved into his jacket pockets. Sam followed. To his surprise, he found himself catching Jake with ease. Sam was puzzled at the man's lack of urgency. Even when Jake looked over his shoulder and spotted him, he didn't walk any quicker.
Then Sam saw why.
A police car was parked across the road. The two uniformed officers in the front glanced at Jake as he drew level with them. Sam backed off a touch, studying the policemen. They didn't appear to have noticed him yet.
Sam wondered why they were hanging around near the pub. Were they keeping an eye on him? Perhaps they were watching Jake. Or just the pub itself. He reasoned he could be wrong on all counts. It might just be paranoia kicking in.
Jake continued to saunter along the snow-laden pavement, safe in the knowledge Sam wouldn't be crazy enough to apprehend him in view of the police. Sam kept his distance, content to bide his time. The law wouldn't be around all night to protect Jake.
The policemen looked Sam's way as he passed. They didn't look particularly interested in him. One officer yawned while his colleague rooted around up his nose with his index finger. Sam thought they looked bored stiff.
Twenty yards past them, Sam heard their car burst into life.
Jake glanced around, suddenly looking uneasy. Sam knew why. If the police drove off, then the chase was on again.
Which is exactly what happened.
The police car cruised past, turned at the next junction, then disappeared from view.
Jake didn't look behind him again. He just started running.
Sam broke out into a jog.
He watched Jake vanish around the same corner as the police car. Sam started sprinting. He didn't want to lose Jake now. Rounding the corner himself, he ground to an abrupt halt.
The street was empty.
Sam was mystified. Jake had only been seconds ahead of him. On the other side of the road was a park shrouded in darkness. Sam dismissed it. Jake wouldn't have made it over there in time. Sam studied the row of three-storey town houses lining his side of the road. One caught his eye. A bulky, overgrown hedge fronted the property. The enormous front window of the house was boarded up. Bags of rubbish were piled up beneath it, some ripped, revealing empty food tins and beer cans. A weak light shone from the window on the first floor. Sam could hear the steady thump of rave music from within the house.
He heard a howl. The sound of a man in pain.
Sam walked past the house and looked up the side entrance. A wooden fence blocked any access around to the back of the house. Sam heard someone curse on the other side of the fence and smiled. It sounded like Jake Dawkins had injured himself scrambling to safety.
Sam heard Jake let himself into the house. The music suddenly stopped and people began shouting at each other. Sam grinned. It appeared Jake's sudden appearance had caused a right rumpus indoors.
Sam walked back and pressed himself against the hedge, using the thick shrubbery as cover. The voices in the house were quietening down. Sam peered through the hedge and saw faces at various windows, staring out onto the street.
Squatters.
Eventually, the faces disappeared from the windows. Sam wondered what Jake was telling them right now. As badly as he wanted to get in and find out, he decided to leave it. Now was not the right time.
It could wait a little longer.
He had found Jake Dawkins at last.
***
Walking back past The Bird In Hand, Sam's phone began ringing. He hoped it would be Richie, calling to expand on his fruitless investigation into the Jaguar's number plate. Instead, the caller display showed an unknown number. Sam stepped into the nearest doorway, out of the driving snow.
'Yes?'
'Sam Carlisle?'
The male voice was muffled, slightly hesitant.
'That's me,' replied Sam. 'Who's asking?'
The caller ignored his question.
'I'm doing you a favour here, so listen. Keep your nose out of anything to do with the Findlays. The girl or her brother.'
'Why should I?' Sam asked bluntly.
A heavy sigh down the line.
'You're not getting it, are you? I'm telling you as a friend, if you don't butt out, they'll be back to finish you off. Just remember what happened to Danny Findlay.'
The phone clicked. The mysterious caller had rung off.
Sam tucked his phone away, his nerve ends tingling with anticipation. The call had finally confirmed the two cases were linked. Danny Findlay had been searching for his sister. He must have got too close for someone's comfort. So close he had been murdered for his trouble.
Why had he been silenced?
It didn't bode well for Hope. Sam wondered if she was being held against her will, somewhere here in Newgate.
His thoughts turned to the caller. The man knew everything, from the circumstances surrounding Danny's death to the assault on Sam in his flat. His advice had been stark and uncompromising. Yet there had been sincerity in his voice. An urgent desire to warn Sam for the good of his health. Most intriguing of all, Sam thought he recognised the voice, despite the attempt at disguise. He just couldn't place where from.
Sam was bothered by one outstanding question.
Why would someone want to help him?
Chapter 20
>
Three days.
That was all Sam had given himself.
He had woken the next morning to a telephone call from Andrew Rodgers. The businessman had called to say he was bringing forward his trip to the Caribbean. Would Sam still be able to make it at shorter notice? There was the slightest trace of urgency in his voice as he waited for a reply.
Sam agreed to accompany him without hesitation.
There were simply too many positives not to accept the offer. The lure of a change of scenery and an exciting new challenge was just too much of a draw. Rodgers had sounded delighted, telling Sam he would make the travel arrangements immediately.
Three days until Sam left for warmer shores.
Now, with his departure from Newgate ever nearer, Sam felt a considerable weight slip from his shoulders. Sat in his office, he found himself staring at the picture on his phone again. The photograph of Hope Findlay.
She stared back at him with fiery determination. Her expression was brash, her eyes burning with indignation. The picture reflected a number of contradictions in the pretty teenager. The rebellious eye-liner and defiant gaze contrasted markedly with the cherubic, youthful face complete with tiny freckles across the nose.
An unhappy young girl, struggling to find her way in life.
Sam desperately wanted to find her. He had been too late to save her brother. Tracking down Hope and securing her safety would provide some consolation. After all, it had been Danny's dying wish. Finding Hope would be a fitting tribute to him.
There also remained the small matter of revenge for Sam.
***
His letterbox resounded loudly. Sam took a deep breath, opened his flat door and peered down the stairs. It was only the local free paper. Once again, he cursed his edginess.
The sooner he put a stop to this the better.
Flicking through the paper, an article tucked away at the bottom of a page caught his eye. Danny Findlay's funeral was taking place this morning. Sam checked his watch. In half an hour, to be more precise.
Suddenly, his phone burst into life.
Archie.
'Sam, have you seen the paper?'
He knew what was coming next. The two of them must have been reading the article at the same time. Thinking the same thing.
'Danny's funeral?'
'That's right. Do you think we should go?'
Exactly what had crossed Sam's mind.
'Well, we were the ones who found him...and I doubt he's going to have anyone else there.'
Archie grunted in agreement.
'We'll have to be quick about it then. I'll ring Denny and see if he wants to come. I'll pick you up on the way.'
'Okay,' said Sam. 'I'm going to make a phone call myself. There's somebody else I think would like to come.'
***
'Gloria, how are you?'
Gloria climbed into the back of Archie's car and smiled demurely at Denny sat alongside her. She turned her attention to Sam, who was in the front seat, head turned towards her.
'I'm very well, thank you, Sam. Thanks for asking me along. I didn't even know the funeral was today.'
Gloria looked elegant in a black two-piece suit. Like the three men in the car, she had been forced to dress hurriedly given the short notice.
'Nor did we until a few minutes ago,' sighed Sam, silently fuming at DI Robins. The detective must have been aware the funeral was taking place today, yet he had made no effort to inform Sam.
'Glad to make your acquaintance,' said Denny, hair and beard hastily pressed down in a vain attempt to smarten himself up for the occasion. He thrust his hand out in Gloria's direction.
Sam watched Gloria take Denny's hand and shake it daintily. He smiled as the two of them nodded to each other shyly.
'Gloria, meet Denny...and the man driving us to the church is Archie. Gentlemen, this is Gloria, a friend of Danny's.'
'Pleased to meet you, Gloria,' said Archie, giving her a glance in his rear view mirror before pulling the car out into the road.
'How well did you two know Danny?' asked Gloria, clearly confused that such a lonely man was attracting all these well-wishers to his funeral.
Sam held his breath. He had warned his friends not to mention they were the ones who had found Danny. He was afraid it would upset Gloria too much, especially on today of all days. Thankfully, they had taken heed.
'Briefly,' sighed Archie, swinging the car full circle across the road, setting off towards the church. 'Only very briefly.'
***
They walked into the cemetery just as Danny's coffin was being lowered into the ground. A young man in a black suit was standing on the edge of the grave, looking sombre as he sprinkled dirt into the black hole below. Sam heard a prolonged rattle as the particles struck the wooden box in the ground. A stocky priest in full religious gown spoke quietly as the hired pallbearers drifted away from the scene, their work done.
Sam felt Gloria shiver next to him as the four of them approached the grave. The cemetery reminded Sam of a Christmas card scene, still and totally blanketed in fresh snow. The blizzard had relented today, giving way to a light drizzle accompanied by a chill wind.
The young man at the graveside turned their way. When he saw them slow down near Danny's grave, a startled look appeared on his face. He tried to step back but slipped on the muddy ground. Off-balance, he suddenly lurched forward. Gloria gasped as the man teetered precariously on the edge of the grave.
The priest extended one huge forearm, grabbed the man by his suit jacket and pulled him back from the brink. The man sighed in relief, patted himself down and gave the priest an appreciative look.
'Don't worry, son,' said the priest with a grim smile. 'It happens more often than you think in this weather. God isn't ready to take you yet.'
The man hardly looked placated by the words, his head bowed in embarrassment, his eyes focused on the pit he had nearly followed Danny into. Sam watched him closely as the group congregated around the grave. Sam knew what had rattled the man. It was their appearance on the scene.
The priest mumbled some words and wound the service up. Sam watched the young man slink away, his hands clasped, head still down. Gloria, Archie and Denny continued to stare down at the coffin, paying their respects to the man inside.
Sam left them, eager to catch the man who had just left. He caught up with him in a few strides.
'Excuse me,' he said, trying to keep his voice low. 'My name's Sam Carlisle.'
The man turned to him. His eyes were bloodshot, as though he had been crying. Deep sorrow was etched on his face.
'Stuart Sloane.'
Sam offered his hand. Stuart took it, but his handshake was limp, as though his heart wasn't in it. Sam thought the man was suffering.
'Were you a friend of Danny's?' he asked.
Stuart looked stumped for an answer. He gazed up at the grey sky, oblivious to the drops of rain falling on his face. Sam could see he was overcome with emotion. He also sensed Stuart Sloane had a lot on his mind.
'Look, this clearly isn't a good time for you to talk. I'll give you my number.'
Sam took out a card, scrawled his name and number on it, and handed it over. Stuart accepted it reluctantly, as though he were being handed a chunk of glowing coal. He studied the card with puzzlement.
'Why do you-'
'I'm trying to find out what happened to Danny.'
Stuart looked visibly shaken by the statement.
'Are you police?' he asked tentatively.
Sam shook his head.
'I'm a friend. Just give me a call when you're ready.'
***
Archie drove them back to the Barton for a low-key wake. A tribute to a life none of them could say they knew. So much so nobody seemed willing to mention the man they had just witnessed being buried. The three men put Gloria at ease immediately by taking an interest in her work for the Salvation Army. Denny seemed particularly taken by her.
'You've got a heart of gold,' he
said, giving Gloria a warm smile. 'Helping people the way you do.'
Gloria patted him on the arm.
'You should pop in and see us some time, Denny. We always need extra hands.'
Denny stroked his beard thoughtfully. Sam watched on in amusement. His friend was blushing.
'More drinks, Archie?' said Sam, rising from his chair.
'I'll give you a hand,' nodded Archie, getting up as well.
At the bar, Archie went round the other side and poured four drinks. Sam gazed in the direction of Denny and Gloria, who were deep in conversation.
'It seems our friend over there is pretty smitten by Gloria.'
Archie allowed himself a smile.
'I'd say you're right there.'
'Maybe there's life in the old sea dog yet,' said Sam, supping his drink.
Archie gave him a meaningful stare.
'Now, Sam...'
Sam held up his hands.
'Just trying to lighten the mood, Arch. Let's face it, it's all a bit awkward, isn't it? Gloria's too upset to talk about Danny, and we're too afraid to mention him because we didn't know the man.'
Archie shrugged.
'Maybe it's for the best.'
'How do you mean?'
'Well, better to pay our respects quietly than pretend we knew him and put our foot in it.'
'True,' agreed Sam quietly.
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