Searching For Hope

by Michael Joseph

  Stuart nodding, biting his nails nervously.

  'It was okay at first, even though Danny couldn't find his sister straight away. He used to get frustrated...asking me if I was sure it was her I had seen...but he wouldn't give up. He was so determined to find her. The trouble started when he did find her...'

  'How do you mean?'

  Stuart shook his head sadly.

  'I expected him to be overjoyed. He had looked for her for so long. Instead, he became moody and withdrawn. He would hardly talk to me. It was as though finding her sent him into depression.'

  Sam leaned back in his chair, keeping one eye on the pedestrian square outside the coffee shop. It appeared Danny had found out something he didn't like. Or his sister had told him something he didn't want to hear.

  'What did he say about Hope? Did he mention why she was in Newgate?'

  Stuart gave Sam an earnest stare. It was the look of someone struggling to come to terms with something he didn't understand.

  'All he told me was he had found her. That was it. Whenever I tried asking questions...where she was...what she was doing...he would walk off, as though he couldn't bring himself to answer me. Then he started scaring me.'

  'How?' asked Sam, unable to believe Danny had started throwing his weight around.

  Despite the fear spreading across his face, Stuart gave Sam a reassuring smile.

  'I don't mean like that. I never saw him lose his temper, despite all the strain he put himself under. No, I mean he was getting into trouble. He came back a couple of times with bruises on his face. Danny wasn't a fighter...someone had beaten him up. He became jumpy, really nervous. Something, or someone, was clearly frightening him. He wouldn't tell me what was up, so one day I suggested he go to the police. I'll never forget what he said to me.'

  'What?'

  Stuart took a deep breath.

  'He told me the police could never know why he was in Newgate. He said it would put his life at risk if they ever found out. He was so scared, he made me promise I wouldn't go to them. In fact, he told me I should never talk of it to anyone.'

  Stuart slumped back in his chair, emotionally drained. His coffee lay untouched in front of him. He was biting his fingernails again. A haunted look dogged his eyes.

  A thought crossed Sam's mind briefly. Had Stuart's relationship with Danny been more than platonic? Then he recalled the embarrassed look on Stuart's face when he had mentioned Hope. Stuart Sloane may not have been a hit with the girls, but he had been smitten by Danny's sister. And yet the sorrowful look on Stuart's face troubled Sam. Why had Danny's troubles hit him so hard? Then it came to him. The main reason why the pair had hit it off.

  Loneliness.

  'I never saw Danny again.'

  The simple statement snapped Sam out of his thoughts. Stuart was gazing out of the shop window, staring at a toddler chasing away a pigeon. The bird flew off, soaring high into the sky before disappearing. Stuart looked like he wanted to follow suit.

  Sam remained silent. He had seen this many times before. All it needed was a bit of patience and Stuart would reveal all. Sure enough, moments later, Stuart delved into his trouser pocket, took out a screwed-up piece of paper, and threw it onto the table.

  'I found this note the next morning.'

  Sam picked up the piece of paper and flattened it out. Stuart was still staring out the shop window, seemingly disinterested in their conversation now. Sam read the short, hand-written note.

  'Stuart. I am putting you in too much danger by staying here so I am leaving. I'm sorry. You were a good friend. The best. Danny.'

  Sam looked back up at Stuart, now understanding the reason for the faraway look in his eyes. It wasn't just sadness. It was more than that. Stuart was overcome with guilt. Sam chose his words carefully, letting them slip off his tongue without accusation.

  'You heard about Danny's death, but you were too scared to go to the police, weren't you?'

  Stuart nodded, unable to look at Sam. For a few moments, his mouth opened and his lips moved silently, forming words that wouldn't come out.

  'Stuart, don't feel guilty-'

  'I couldn't help him, Sam.'

  Stuart finally turned back round. He looked at Sam aghast, shaking his head in wonder.

  'I couldn't even help him in death. I've felt terrible about it ever since, so when I saw you this morning...'

  Sam understood. He had presented Stuart with an opportunity to offload his burden.

  'I should have done more for him.'

  Sam picked up the piece of paper, folded it carefully, and pressed it into Stuart's hand, looking him straight in the eye.

  'That's why I'm here.'

  Chapter 22

  Sam had a choice. Jake Dawkins' squat or Jaspers. The afternoon was an ideal time to nose around either place. Both saw their busiest activity at night-time. Sam decided the conversation with Jake was long overdue.

  Driving to the run-down property Jake had escaped into last night, Sam realised the appearance of Jimmy Edwards had changed the whole complexion somewhat. Sam had been ready to lay the blame for everything at Jake's feet, but the antics shown by a proper, clued-up criminal had made him wonder what part a worthless drunk like Jake was playing in all this. Sam had no doubt he was still involved. A runner of sorts, perhaps. An errand boy for Jimmy Edwards.

  Sam was looking forward to finding out.

  ***

  Getting in provided Sam with little difficulty. Conveniently, he found all the occupants in a back room on the first floor, strewn all over the bare floorboards, sleeping off last night's party. Sam tiptoed amongst the slumbering bodies, careful to avoid the empty bottles and cans scattered everywhere.

  Slumped in the far corner was the comatose figure of Jake Dawkins, snoring loudly and dribbling down his chin. Sam shook his head and crept into a room at the front of the house. He peered down the street and saw his parked car, its engine running. A figure in the driver's seat was watching the squat with keen anticipation. Sam patted the gun in his pocket, dialled a number on his phone and returned to the room where Jake and his friends were having sweet dreams.

  Party time.

  'Police!' he shouted at the top of his voice, yelling into a megaphone he had brought along. 'Everybody out right now!'

  The ragtag bunch of squatters jumped up off the floor, scared witless by the deafening noise. Out in the street, a car screeched to a halt outside the house.

  'Police!' shouted Sam again, wandering around the room, hauling people roughly to their feet, waving his badge in their faces. 'Anybody still in this property in two minutes is going to be arrested!'

  The sound of car doors slamming could be heard in the street. Another vehicle pulled up outside the house. More doors slammed. The great drunken, unwashed started running for the door, desperate to escape the house. They shouted in confused panic, bumping into each other as they tried to flee.

  Sam had expected to be hindered by stragglers. He was pleasantly surprised to find only one. Jake Dawkins had barely moved through all the commotion. With the rest of his cronies bolting down the stairs, Sam took another peek out the front of the house. The Capri was disappearing down the street. It was time he made his move.

  Sam returned to Jake Dawkins, hauled the slumbering figure to his feet, and half-dragged him, half-carried him to the nearby fire exit. Jake was finally rousing, groaning as Sam encouraged him down the rickety metal staircase leading to the overgrown garden. At the bottom, Sam stopped for a second to catch his breath, ensuring he kept a tight grip on Jake. To his concern, shouting could be heard from outside the front of the house.

  'There's nobody here!'

  'What's going on?'

  Sam had locked the doors leading out to the garden and thrown away the keys, meaning everyone fleeing the house had been forced to leave by the front door. However, it would only be a matter of time before they returned inside and spotted him absconding with Jake.

  'What are you doing?'

 
The man himself was blinking furiously, staring at Sam in total confusion.

  'Glad you could finally rouse yourself,' said Sam, striking him a split second later under the chin, sending him back to sleep. 'Shame you missed all the fun.'

  Sam dragged him up the garden and out through the back gate. Parked on the empty strip of land behind the garden was his Capri, the back door wide open, keys hanging in the ignition.

  'Jake, you are making this such hard work,' muttered Sam breathlessly, shoving the stocky man into the back seat. 'You really need to take better care of yourself.'

  Sam slammed the door on Jake, walked around the car and got into the driver's seat. In his mirror, he caught sight of a figure waving briefly in his direction before strolling off.

  Sam smiled thinly and whispered to himself.

  'Thanks, Hugo.'

  ***

  Hugo had been pestering Sam incessantly over the last two days. The mortuary worker had grown overly curious at Sam's involvement in the death of Danny Findlay. Sam had finally succumbed to his persistence, offering him a minor role in the investigation. He outlined what Hugo could do to help, not believing for a moment the man would take Sam up on his offer. To say Hugo was thrilled to be playing amateur detective was an understatement. He was ecstatic.

  Sam had grudgingly accepted he needed a bit of help. Jake Dawkins was most likely going to lie low for a while with the heat on, and Sam couldn't wait for ever. He needed to get in the house and get Jake out. To do that, it had been necessary to add a distraction.

  Sam had to admit it had worked a treat. Hugo had played his part perfectly, driving the Capri up to the house at speed, getting out and slamming the doors, hidden from view by the enormous hedge at the front of the squat. He had repeated the manoeuvre again before driving off to park the Capri around the back. Hugo's actions had simply accentuated the impression the police were raiding the house.

  Sam looked over his shoulder. Jake was still out cold in the back of the car, spread-eagled across the seat. Sam smiled grimly and headed for Shard End, eager to get to his destination before Jake came to again.

  His phone began ringing. Sam glanced at the screen, put the phone on loudspeaker and dropped it on the passenger seat.

  'Richie?'

  His friend's distorted voice burst from the phone.

  'Sam, can you talk?'

  Sam glanced behind him again. He didn't have time to pull over. He had to risk talking, hoping he wouldn't wake Jake up.

  'Go on, Rich.'

  'I've been checking out Kenny Swain. Apparently, he was under investigation a few years back.'

  Sam could hear the crackle of excitement in Richie's voice.

  'What for?'

  Richie paused. Sam knew it was something significant.

  'Messing about with under age girls. Nothing was ever proved, but it appears the rumours took their toll. Swain sold up all his businesses and went to ground. Nothing was heard of him for some time after that.'

  Sam's mind conjured up the picture of Hope Findlay in her school uniform. The teenager had gone missing, only to end up working behind the bar of Kenny Swain's club.

  'Don't tell me,' he sighed. 'The next time he appears on the radar is here in Newgate.'

  'Exactly,' said Richie. 'He was never actually charged with anything, so his application to open up a club couldn't be blocked. Of course the police are taking a closer interest in him than they would your average entrepreneur, given what happened, but he seems to be keeping his nose clean.'

  Sam wasn't so sure given the more he was finding out. As had happened so often during their long working relationship, Richie appeared to be reading Sam's mind.

  'You think he's got something to do with Hope's disappearance, don't you?'

  Sam went to fill his friend in on latest developments, but Jake started moving restlessly in the back.

  'Rich, I've got to go.'

  'Okay, Sam. Oh, just one more thing.'

  Sam was approaching a tunnel. The phone started crackling as the reception began to falter. Sam looked in his mirror and saw Jake tossing and turning with a groan.

  'Kenny Swain has hooked up with a couple of well-known villains down there.'

  Static began to overpower Richie's voice as the Capri went under the tunnel. Darkness enveloped the car. Jake's moans grew louder.

  '...Jimmy Edwards...'

  Sam chewed on his lip. Jimmy Edwards and Kenny Swain. That tied Jaspers into the equation for certain. Sam caught the other name from Richie just before the phone cut off.

  '...and Laurence Duvall...'

  The name meant nothing to Sam. Neither of the doormen he had encountered at Jaspers were called that.

  Sam looked in his mirror again.

  The list of questions he wanted to ask Jake Dawkins was getting longer.

  ***

  'Where am I?'

  Sam said nothing, watching Jake whine on the ground feet away. Sam felt no pity for the man, despite his sickly look and obvious disorientation.

  'Where do you think you are?'

  Jake looked around, trying to determine his whereabouts. Sam had dumped him in the darkest, dankest corner he could find. Taking in the surroundings, realisation quickly dawned on Jake's face. He shook his head and uttered a solitary word.

  'Why?'

  Sam gave him a sinister smile.

  'This is where it all started, Jake...and this is where it's all going to end.'

  A chill wind swept through the empty factory. The Concrete Jungle was as deathly silent as the last time Sam had visited.

  'What are you on about?'

  Sam's answer was to take out his gun and aim it at the helpless figure in front of him.

  'No!' cried Jake, scrambling backwards on all fours, terror etched on his face. 'Please, don't!'

  He came to a halt as his back struck the nearest wall. He looked around frantically, realising he was cornered. Sam watched him shake with fear. Jake had nowhere left to run.

  'What do you want from me?' he bleated.

  Sam kept the gun trained on his head.

  'Answers,' he replied simply.

  Jake gulped and nodded, raising his knees to his chest.

  'I'm sorry I smashed your car!' he squealed. 'I was angry. You showed me up in front-'

  Sam started laughing. He lowered the gun to his side.

  'Do you really think I'd go to all this trouble for a smashed window?'

  Jake looked bemused. He went to speak, then did a double take, deciding it was wiser to hear what Sam had to say.

  'I'm going to ask you the same question I asked the first night I came down here. I only had a description then...now I've got a name.'

  Jake waited, looking fearful. He couldn't take his eyes off the gun.

  'Do you know Danny Findlay?'

  Jake didn't react immediately, clearly wary of antagonising Sam by saying the wrong thing. When he did reply, it was accompanied by a robust shake of the head.

  'I told you that night I don't know him.'

  Sam couldn't deny the blank look on Jake's face. He raised the gun again.

  'I want the truth.'

  Jake Dawkins, a man usually teeming with bravado and burning rage, looked fit to cry. Sam sensed it wasn't just the gun directed at his face that was causing him so much distress. The man genuinely looked nonplussed.

  'I really don't know who you're on about,' he whimpered.

  Sam had seen plenty of hard men reduced to blithering wrecks under pressure in his time. He had never seen a collapse like this.

  'Okay, let's try some other names. How about Kenny Swain?'

  Jake shook his head meekly.

  'Jimmy Edwards?'

  Jake didn't answer straight away. Sam watched him closely. The name had caused an instant flicker of recognition on Jake's face. One he couldn't disguise.

  'Yeah, I know Jimmy Edwards. Everybody in Newgate knows him.'

  'How well do you know him, Jake?'

  Jake continued to lo
ok puzzled.

  'Hardly,' he answered. 'I know he sells iffy gear. I've never met him properly.'

  Sam decided to throw out a more random name.

  'Roger Carpenter?'

  Jake had never heard the name.

  Sam realised he wasn't getting anywhere. He decided to go down a different route.

  'You were spying on me the other day when I was here.'

  Jake nodded grudgingly.

  'I wanted to know why you were here. I thought you were coming back for me after I smashed your car. I heard you talking about somebody being murdered...this Danny Findlay you keep on about. It freaked me out. That was another reason I ran...'

  Sam recalled chasing Jake across the wasteland. Entering the other building. Being taken by surprise by the strike on the back of his head. Waiting for the final blow to come down.

  'You attacked me!' he shouted, taking a step forward, fighting to control the rage boiling up within him. 'You would have killed me if you hadn't been disturbed!'

  Jake shook his head furiously, perplexed by it all. His eyes widened in panic as Sam took another step towards him. The barrel of the gun was looming large in his face.

  'I don't know-'

  'You ran away!' screamed Sam, gripping the gun with both hands to steady himself. 'Then you jumped me and whacked me on the head! You wanted me out of the way!'

  The end of the gun was only inches from Jake's nose as Sam bore down on him. The terrified man had his arms across his face, as though his limbs might protect him from a bullet at close range.

  'It wasn't me! I don't know who did it, but it wasn't-'

  Sam yelled into his face.

  'Did you murder Danny Findlay?'

  'No!' snivelled Jake hysterically, removing his arms to give Sam an appalled look. 'I've never done anything like-'

  'Who attacked me here, Jake?' screamed Sam, finally letting rip, his finger tightening around the gun trigger. 'Who jumped me if it wasn't you?'

  That did it for Jake. He dropped his head between his knees, a broken man. He had been pushed past his limit.

  'Whoever you're looking for,' he whispered resignedly, 'you've got the wrong person.'