Most of my time at the hospital had been taken up with batting off the questions from the two uniform police officers who turned up looking for Eric. After finding nothing at the bridge apart from Eric's car embedded in the railings and blood spills, they were on the ball enough to think to check round the hospitals. While I was talking to one, his mate rang around other A&Es but none reported any admissions involving Russian types. I kept my story as short as I could get away with. Gol and I had responded to a shout for help from a friend and we'd defended ourselves. That was about it, and it seemed to bear with what a couple of witnesses at the bridge had said. It was obvious the cops realised there was more to it, but as no one was yet making any formal complaint, they didn't show too much interest in following it up.
While I was there, I went up to the ward where Vincent was and spoke to a nurse who told me he was awake and 'comfortable', which made me feel a little better. I didn't drop by his bed for a chat.
Up to when I left the hospital, there'd been no sign of Carver or Jess, but I knew it was only a matter of time before word of what had happened got back to them. I guessed he wouldn't be best pleased.
When I arrived home, Laura was about to go to bed. Like with the police I batted off her enquiries about where I'd been and what had happened to my shoulder. It was bruising up nicely by then and every time I moved it, pain lanced through and into my neck. But something in my manner must have told her that I was not in the mood for conversation - on any subject - and she loped off to bed, frustrated she hadn't yet managed to get to where she wanted to be regarding Dad. Before I followed her I rang my partner, Mike, and brought him up to date with what was happening, though like with the police, I kept it all brief.
As I slid into my own bed I could hear Laura and Grant having words next door. I guess bickering families and gang wars hadn't featured in whatever picture Laura had painted to get him to accompany her, 'Up North'. I'd already pegged Grant as one of those city-types who believes the world ends at Watford. I didn't try to listen in, and despite everything that had happened the past twenty-four hours and which I could have spent all night thinking about, I must have fallen asleep almost at once. I think some instinct was probably telling me to get some sleep while I could because things could be about to change. Which they were.
I woke to the sound of heavy banging downstairs which, after a few seconds, I realised was someone at the front door. My phone's screen read 06.02. I knew at once who it was. The thuds were too heavy for Vicki, the Russians wouldn't have knocked, and any of my guys would have rung first. There's only one other group of people I know who are in the habit of making early morning visits.
As I trooped downstairs, shouting to Laura to stay in bed and, 'It's alright,' - which it clearly wasn't - images of Vincent, injured or even dead Russians, and a comatose Eric vied to occupy top spot on the list of most-likelies. There was no way I could have guessed how far out they all were.
When I opened the door I was surprised to see Carver hanging back, well behind the man doing the knocking, as if he were there only to observe. Uniforms hovered, the way they do when they are there, 'just in case.' In the backdrop I counted at least three cars that weren't usually parked in the close. As my gaze re-focused on the man on the step and I remembered him as Carver’s mate, DCI Welbeck, alarm bells rang. Whatever was going on, it didn't look good.
'Danny Norton?' Welbeck said.
'Don't be a dick,' I said. 'It was only yesterday.'
Over Welbeck's shoulder, Carver looked exasperated and shook his head by way of a warning. But Welbeck must have been watching re-runs of The Bill because he stayed in role.
'Daniel Norton, I am arresting you for the murder of… You do not have to say anything...'
It was one of those moments when the words are so far away from what you expect they fail to register first time. Bad enough that my gut had sunk like a stone as soon as I heard the word 'murder', my brain wasn't quick enough to recognise the name and began to re-run those I'd been half-expecting. It wasn't Vincent Lamont, and nor was it anything that sounded in any way foreign. As Welbeck stepped forward to take hold of my arm and another officer came round behind me, cuffs in hand, I checked myself. By now Laura was halfway downstairs calling out, 'Danny? Are you alright? What do they want?'
'Hang on,' I said, trying to keep Welbeck in sight as the officer fitted the cuffs. 'Say that again. Who is it I'm supposed to have murdered?'
Welbeck gave me a look like he thought I might be pissing about, but played it by the book. And this time I heard it clear as a bell when he said, 'You heard me. Gerard Reilly.'
For several seconds all I could do was stare at him. My first thoughts were around Stevie B and Shane, and what they had done to Ged after finding him in the Golden Dragon. But then I realised, something was badly off.
‘You’re making a big mistake somewhere. Ged Reilly is in Thailand, least he was last Saturday.’
Welbeck gave me a look that was almost pitying, like he’d been expecting something a bit less desperate. He shook his head.
‘Right now, Ged Reilly’s remains are in the mortuary at Warrington General. They’ve been there since we found them in a shallow grave out at Winwick, where it seems they’ve been lying since he went missing several years ago.’
CHAPTER 34
Thursday
On the face of it, the Interview Room in the new Custody Suite looks pretty much the same as the one I remembered at the police station. Table, chairs, recording equipment, bare walls. But the atmosphere was completely different. Somehow its pristine newness lent it a formality that was missing from the old one. Last time it had come as no great surprise when the detective in the case had leaned across, paused the tape and said, 'Okay. Off the record. Tell me what happened.' But now, as I listened to Welbeck going through his list of prepared questions, I knew that the chances of something similar happening were zilch. Not that it would have helped. Half an hour into the interview I was still playing it ultra-cautious. In particular I was trying to get my head round how Ged Reilly's decomposed body had, according to Welbeck, been discovered buried in some woods out at Winwick, when five days before, he'd been with Stevie B and Shane in Thailand. From what I'd heard about the police in Thailand, I wasn't keen to point any fingers in that direction until I'd figured out what the fuck was going on.
'Well?' Welbeck said. 'Are you going to give any answer?'
I lifted my head and blinked at him. 'Sorry. What was the question?'
Welbeck threw me an exasperated look - not the first since the interview had begun - before sharing it with the slight, balding man sitting on my left.
Peter Francis is someone else I went to school with. He and his professional and personal partner, Bernie Stokes, run Francis and Stokes Solicitors. They've got a good reputation as about the best practicing criminal law solicitors in Warrington. Peter represented me the last time I was arrested. Carver, sitting well back behind Welbeck and taking no part in the interview, turned away in his chair to rub at his forehead.
Welbeck gave a sigh, then said, 'My question was, if, like you say, you've not seen Ged Reilly for over ten years, how can you be so sure the body we've found can't be his?'
I stared at him quite a long time. I was thinking on what to say, while also resisting the temptation to turn to Peter. I didn't want to give the impression we had discussed anything we weren't prepared to share with the police. So far we'd played it that Peter knew nothing and was simply there to protect my rights. What I hadn't figured out yet was Stevie B and Shane's parts in it all. If the body was Ged Reilly's, then who was it they'd grabbed in Thailand, and what had they done to him? On the other hand, if Reilly was in Thailand, then whose was the body, and how had my old mobile come to be in the grave with it?
I had to say something so I said, 'I'm sorry, but all I can say right now is, I know nothing about any body and in any case, I'm pretty sure it can't be Ged Reilly.'
Welbeck gave me a straight look. 'Th
at suggests two things to me. One, you're stalling to give yourself more time to come up with a believable story. The second is that even if the body isn't Ged Reilly, it belongs to someone else you killed and Reilly's body is yet to be found.'
I was about to tell him what I thought of his theory when I felt Peter's hand on my arm. 'Just a moment Chief Inspector. As I said before, that still suggests that you are treating the fact that my client's mobile phone was found with the body as proof that he was involved in its burial, as well as being responsible for the victim's death. And as I pointed out earlier, one does not necessarily follow the other. My client has already stated, quite clearly, that around that time his mobile phone went missing and he reported it as either lost or stolen. If you check the phone company records I am sure they will be able to verify that fact.'
'And as I also said earlier, even if they do, he could have reported his phone missing because he realised afterwards where he might have dropped it and then concocted a story about losing it to cover himself.'
'Bollocks,' I said, then felt Peter's hand again.
'You can answer, 'bollocks' to as many of my questions as you like,’ Welbeck said. ‘But it doesn't alter the fact that we have statements from people confirming they remember you looking for Ged in the days before he disappeared, and threatening violence to him.'
'Too bloody right I was. After what he did to Ricky Mason, I'd have-' This time Peter's squeeze was stronger.
'I think what my client means to say is, that he does not deny that was the case, but again, he repeats, for the record, that he never found Mr Reilly at that time, and has never seen him since.'
Now it was Welbeck's turn to stare. His eyes locked with mine and I had no trouble reading the thought that lay behind them. Liar.
After the interview I spent another two hours alone in my cell, staring at the murky-beige walls. while Welbeck, 'checked out some facts.' What those facts were he didn't say. I spent some of the time wondering about whose names were on the statements he'd referred to and thinking about how it’s times like this you find out who your real friends are.
It was late afternoon when they granted me police bail. As we left the station, the word Peter used was 'impasse.' Seeing my look, he explained. As of that moment, the only things identifying the body as Ged Reilly were the driving licence and cards in the wallet found in the back pocket of his trousers. A DNA test couldn't be done because as yet, there were no samples of Ged's DNA available for comparison. Ged had no children and so far the police hadn't been able to trace any other surviving family. On the other hand according to Peter, and despite Welbeck's attempts to make much of it, my mobile phone being found with the body didn't amount to much either. It was circumstantial evidence and that was all. I'd reported it lost around that time. Anyone could have taken it and dropped it in the grave. The only trouble was, I hadn't come up with a single name of who that someone might be, or who - if not Ged - the body belonged to.
As Peter dropped me off at the office and I was about to get out, I turned to him. 'You've not actually said.'
'Said what?'
'Whether you believe me.'
'He gave me a straight look. 'You've been around long enough to know the score Danny. It's not my job to believe or disbelieve you. My job is to represent you.'
I gave a slow nod. 'Thanks for the vote of confidence.'
He shrugged his narrow shoulders. 'Nothing personal. I answered the question the same way I do with all my clients.'
'Right.'
About to drive off he stopped, wound the passenger window down. ''One thing.'
I came back to the car. 'What's that?'
'It might just help your case if you could remember where you were and who you were with when you lost your mobile.'
'I'll give it some thought.'
'Do.'
I watched as he drove away. And as I turned away to go upstairs and see Mike my thought was, That's the bloody trouble.
CHAPTER 35
Mike was waiting in the office and jumped up when I walked in.
'Thank fuck. What's going on?' Julie came through as well, a concerned look on her face.
I told him the story, or as much of it as I felt I could at that time.
When I finished he said, 'So they don't even know if it's Ged's body?'
'They're saying it is, but without DNA they can't prove it.'
'Let's hope it stays that way.'
I looked at him. 'Why? What difference does it make who's body it is?'
Realising his mistake, he waffled. 'Right, well- What I meant was- It would be easier all round if the whole thing just dies a death, which it will, hopefully, if they can't prove it's Ged.'
'Apart from the whole town will know I was arrested for killing him. And we all know how mud sticks.'
He gave a dismissive wave. 'I wouldn't worry about that. Everyone already thinks-' He stopped as Julie winced. Mike could never be a diplomat.
I looked at him, shook my head. 'Thanks Mike. Nice to know I can rely on your support.'
As the crimson began to spread up his face, I pulled out my mobile. Peter had brought it with him when he picked me up, along with some other stuff. I had voicemails and texts. The first few were from the team before they'd have heard about my arrest, wanting to know about Eric and what the plan was. Then there were more from them after my arrest and offering help with anything I needed when I was released. There were other messages as well. One was from a worried-sounding Frank Johnson asking me to get in touch as soon as I was, 'out.'
I turned to Mike, who was still looking sheepish. 'Have you spoken to Frank?'
He nodded. 'He rang this morning asking what it was all about. I told him you'd see him tonight, assuming you were released.'
'Good.'
'I take it you are aware that this could raise a problem with the contract?'
'Yes Mike, I know that.'
A clause in the contract allowed for it to be voided if any part of the company or its employees became implicated in criminal activity. The clause is standard in the business and is supposed to protect the club-owner. I supposed that criminal activity might just include murder.
'Would Frank invoke it?' Mike said.
I thought about it. 'He wouldn't have before. But with Yashin hovering- Who knows?'
'Perhaps I'd better talk with Isaac.'
'Perhaps you better had.'
Isaac Meyer is the solicitor we turn to for legal advice when we need it. I returned to my messages. There was one from Vicki. I turned away while I listened to it. At least her tone was different from the last time we spoke.
'I've just heard about Eric. I'm sorry. Let me know if there's anything I can do. For Sally or anything. 'Bye.' It wasn't much, but it was her and it was the best thing I'd heard all day. I rang her back. She answered after two rings.
'They're keeping Eric in for observations,' I said. 'I think Sally's okay but I'll let you know.'
'Okay.'
'I hesitated before continuing. 'I looked in on Vincent while I was at the hospital. He seems to be recovering.'
'Yes, I saw him this morning.'
'Right.'
'He's not saying anything to the police about what happened.'
'Okay.'
'It's his decision.'
'Fair enough.'
There was a longish pause then she said, 'I heard about you being arrested. Was it to do with Vincent?'
'No, something else.'
There was another pause while she waited to see if was going to explain further. When I didn't she said, 'Are you in trouble?'
'A bit. But I'm working on it.'
'Will you be in tonight?'
'Yes.'
'Okay. See you then.'
'Right.'
She rang off.
I sat a while, thinking, before I took the next message. It was fairly cryptic. A man whose voice I didn't recognise and who didn't give his name said, 'I'm ringing on behalf of an old school mate of your'
s. He says he'll meet you at six o'clock. The usual place.' He rang off. I checked my watch. It was already five-thirty.
The last message made me sit up. It was from Stevie B, in Thailand. 'Need to speak Danny. It's urgent. Ring me back when you get this.'
I put my phone away and stood up. Mike looked up, surprised.
'Where are you going?'
'Things to do. Places to go. People to see.' I headed for the door.
'Hang on a minute. Don't you think we should talk about-'
'No.'
'But we need to decide-'
'You deal with it.' At the door I stopped, turned. 'One thing you can do.
'What?'
'Roster half-a-dozen extra tonight, just in case.'
'You mean at Midnight’s?'
'No. The OAP's Bingo Hall. And put Winston back on.'
'I thought you banned him?'
'I've just un-banned him.'
As I descended the stairs I heard Mike's plaintive voice calling after me, 'DANNYYY…?'
The 'usual place' referred to by the man who left the message was the big Tesco's car park in Bewsey. On the way there I made two phone calls. First I tried ringing Stevie B back on the number he'd called me on from Thailand. There was no reply. Next I rang Laura.
'Where are you?' she said. 'I rang the police station but they said you'd been released.'
'I have. I'm working. Sorting some things out.'
'Are you coming home?'
'Not until after the club closes.'
There was pause. 'So you're not coming to see Dad?'
'Not today.'
'Tomorrow?'
'I don't know. Maybe. I can't say.'
'What are you mixed up in Danny? Do you need a good lawyer?'
I hoped to God she didn't mean Canary Wharf Boy. 'Already got one.'
Another pause. 'Are you going to be okay?'
'Course I am. You know me. I always come out on top.'
Midnight's Door Page 19