Two
Vic Norton was one of Dan’s acquaintances during his year of being a down-and-out at The Refuge. The people at The Refuge were all acquaintances and never friends. That was how it worked when you lived on your wits. Eva remembered Vic Norton’s name from Dan’s tales of that life – he was a low life and a snitch. He was not the kind of person Dan liked at all, and if there was a chance Vic Norton was implicated in Laura’s murder, Eva would need to intercept the meeting fast.
The Sutland Arms was a rough pub in every aspect. From outside it looked as if it should have been condemned, with flaking paint, age battered signage and age old dirt evident in every crevice of the cracked render and rotting doors. Neon Posters advertising tribute bands and a karaoke night were stuck to the windows at jaunty angles. They must have been stuck up during a bout of drunkenness. In this establishment, anything was possible. The inside got worse. A mixture of maroon, and dark wood with low ceilings made the place grimly oppressive. The musty beer smell made Eva want to hold her breath. But if she had to be here at least she could make it bearable with a drink. She saw Dan at a corner booth table sat opposite a man with spiky hair and a wispy mullet. So far the man was still alive, which was a good sign for Dan’s state of mind. He wore a black leather jacket. Vic Norton saw Eva and ignored her. Dan waved.
“White wine please. A small one.”
The pale faced barman had spots all over his face. His skin pallor suggested he wasn’t allowed out during the daylight hours. The barman came back with a glass of wine which he had squeezed from a cardboard box. Eva tasted it and noticed it was like golden syrup and water. It was awful.
“This bird with you then, Craig?” said Norton. Eva snorted as she sat down. Craig? Yes, Dan had given himself some cover at The Refuge. Dan was for his normal life while Craig was the kind of guy who picked up free food at The Refuge, the local soup kitchen and food bank for the homeless. It seemed a pretty weird decision at first. Eventually she saw it was Dan’s way of preventing himself getting sucked into his old life. If he had a different name at The Refuge, he could keep himself sane, healthy and free for when he got away. Dan had explained many times how Victor Marka had tried to break him by taking everything he had, reducing him to less than zero. Eventually, the poverty experience almost stole his sanity. With his dual identities he had created a strategy to be safe. She knew there was another reason for his name change too, but thinking about it rankled, so she let it go. He had also created the false name to stay hidden from Eva after the Will Burton case.
“Yeah, this bird is with me. She’s also the sharpest knife in the set, Vic, so I wouldn’t try and give us any bull. We haven’t got the time, and Eva will smell it a mile off.”
“Pretty, ain’t she?”
“Yeah, Vic. She’s as pretty as you are ugly,” said Dan.
“Fuck off, Craig. We can’t all be David Hasselhoff, you know.”
Eva laughed all over her disgusting wine.
“Now that’s true, Vic. Very sage,” said Dan.
The red faced man gave Dan dagger-eyes and supped his pint.
Eva leapt into the conversation. She had things to do, and the dingy pub walls were closing in. “What do you know about Laura’s disappearance, Mr Norton?”
Norton smiled at Eva, then at Dan. “She’s good, ain’t she? Was she a copper?”
“Answer the question, Vic. You’re getting on my nerves,” said Dan.
“I know what you know. She was picked up by one of the kerb crawlers and she was never seen again until she washed up on Shoebury beach. You know, her head was nearly cut clean off. Hanging on by a thread, so they say. Bit extreme, I thought. Even if you want to kill a tart, surely there are cleaner ways to do it.”
“What?” said Dan. Eva nodded at him to stay calm.
“Well, think about it. I have thought about it. You stab someone in the heart, they bleed, they die, but you don’t get messy. Or if that’s too noisy for you and you want a silent kill, you just stick it in their head, straight in the brain. Gone. But doing that to her throat? Man, there must have been a bloomin’ geyser of blood. The killer had to be strong and pretty bloody bonkers.”
His assessment was grisly, but not far from the mark. Dan had turned pale, and downed half his pint. From the way he grimaced Eva saw his lager tasted appalling too.
“So how did you hear about it?”
“Same way as everyone else. First off the police come sniffing along at The Refuge. They want to speak to people. They want to know whereabouts, checking all the alibis of the possible suspects.”
“Such as?”
“Cliff Mantle, for one. Hang on, you better get me another beer. This is valuable information I’m sharing here.”
Eva shook her head. “No it’s not. I could have got that little detail with a twenty second phone call, much cheaper than buying you the swill they serve here.”
“I’d still like another beer. I don’t get my giro until tomorrow.”
“Then you clearly deserve another pint, Vic. Straight after you tell us everything you know.”
“Who were the other suspects that you recall?”
“Dave Ilescu. One of those Romany boys, likes the sauce too much. The Rozzers caught up with him. Those two are pointing their fingers at each other from what I hear.”
“And what do you think, Vic? Did either of those two men kill Laura?”
The man quaffed a half of his pint and sucked his teeth. “I’ll have another pint, thanks. Then you can have my opinion. Craig looks like he’s on his uppers again. He’s already bought a new raincoat since I last saw you.”
“That’s because someone cut the other one to ribbons, Vic.”
“Really? Now that you mention it, is that how you got that ruddy great gash on your bonce?”
“If you want another drink get on with the story.”
“You always did like danger, right Craig?”
“Who did it Vic?”
“What am I, psychic?”
“No. You’re a greasy little blagger who makes sure he knows too much about everyone else’s business. Now, give us your opinion. That’s all I want.”
“You’ll keep it schtum?”
“Discretion is the better part of valour, Vic. You know that.”
Vic Norton didn’t respond. He made some more progress on his pint instead.
“Okay. Ilescu and Mantle are just two dickheads, they don’t have murder in them. Sure, they were boning the girl and buying favours off her left, right and centre, because they both liked her. She was their favourite tart. She used to be easy on the eye years back, but she was well past her sell-by-date if you ask me.”
Eva felt Dan tense up. Eva nudged his ankle with her shoe. Dan forcibly relaxed.
“But those tarts never do know when to give up. Do they? You should see Ruth Barton. She used to be pretty once. Now she looks like a tortoise who lost its shell, if you get what I mean.” Vic snorted with laughter and Eva had to dodge the man’s flying spittle.
He stopped laughing. “Laura should have given up. It never ends well for any slapper.”
Dan’s arm snapped across the table and seized Vic Norton’s leather lapels. He dragged the red faced man across the table, knocking the remnants of his pint flying. The glass rolled away and came to a safe halt by the wall.
“It never ends well for greasy streaks of piss like you, either Vic. Now, stop disrespecting the dead or I might take you outside for a little lesson in social etiquette, understood?”
Eva laid her hand on Dan’s. His fingers softened and let go of the man’s jacket. Vic Norton wheezed and slid back into his seat. He looked forlornly at the puddle of fizzy liquid which was already bleaching the dark wood veneer on the table.
“You’re a touchy bastard, Craig. I thought we were friends.”
“Yeah, so you say.” said Dan. “Who did it, Vic? Then I’ll buy you a beer.”
“You heard of John Balfour?”
Eva and Dan exchanged a glance. The name
hadn’t registered with either of them.
“No.”
“That’s because he went to prison before you came to town. You came down this way from London, years back right?”
“Yeah. That’s right.”
“John Balfour went inside for a murder fifteen or so years back. He killed a slapper –I mean a prostitute. He tore the poor girl apart. I hear he’s been released and he’s playing the reformed character bit, going to probation, complying with all the stipulations, all that jazz. But murder is a bit like one of those red letter days, one of those thrill-seeker things. Once you’ve had a go, you want to do it again and again.”
“You don’t believe people can change then, Vic?”
“You’ve spent some time down The Refuge, Craig. What do you think?”
“John Balfour. You think this man did it?”
“I’d never speak ill of a man like that. Wherever did you get that idea from? But his track record is undeniable… and he’s back on the scene. Coincidence is a funny thing. Now, where’s my pint?”
“It’s here,” Dan laid a creased old five pound note into the puddle of beer. It soaked up the stinking liquid like an old tissue.
“Now why did you do that?”
“A drink is a drink, Vic. Now, listen up. You stay away from the working girls, Vic. No matter what they tell you when you pass them your money, they honestly don’t want you near them. Leave them alone, all right?”
“I thought you were a nice man, Craig. Now I’m not sure.”
“That’s right, Vic. You’re getting to know me a lot better now. Let’s get out of here.” Dan slid out from the table and Eva followed. They left their drinks standing on the table. Vic Norton looked at the soaking wet fiver and then he looked at the mostly full drinks. A thin smile began to spread across his red face as he gathered the glasses closer to his thirsty mouth.
Three
In retrospect Eva decided that not telling Dan was definitely a mistake - especially seeing as their relationship was dramatically improving. But the way her stomach burned when she read the text from DI Gary Rowntree, she simply knew telling Dan was going to complicate matters way beyond what they needed right now. The ugly little text was an instruction rather than a request, which said a lot in itself. Rowntree now thought he could boss Eva around. Since when was that ever the case? Alabaster Properties presented a good excuse to cover her whereabouts while she heard what Rowntree wanted. Rowntree’s text was simple.
Lunch this afternoon. 1pm. Plat du Jour. Don’t bring friends.
Eva tutted as she read it then deleted the damn thing. She would go to Plat du Jour, even if only to put Gary in his place. Whatever justification he thought he had was wrong and she would tell him so. Eva only had enough mind space for dealing with the Alabaster conundrum, and helping Dan investigate Laura’s murder. Playing psychological games with Rowntree was way out of the question. But Eva had to go, or things would get worse, she was sure of it.
At 1pm she was outside Plat du Jour, the restaurant in town which was really an upgrade on an old place. It was painted orange and brown, and looked more nightclub than restaurant. It was in the centre of town. Eva walked in at 1pm and saw just three tables with diners. Rowntree was on the edge of the conservatory at the back, half his face swathed in light, half in shade. He stuck a big savage hand in the air and waved her across. Her heart was racing as if this was some romantic meeting, but it was nothing of the kind. Her heart was racing because she felt guilty, and Rowntree somehow knew it. Things had never been the same since Maggie Gillespie’s death at the Galvan house. She had omitted both Kendra’s and Gerrard’s murders from the interview she had endured at the police station, and at the end somehow all blame for Maggie’s death had been transferred to the town’s vigilante. It was a sleight of hand that Eva couldn’t buy into, but the press loved it. Their vigilante was now a murderer and gave them exciting material to fill their pages for weeks. Eva liked an idea if it held up under analysis. The vigilante killing Maggie Gillespie? That notion didn’t make sense at all, there were too many holes in that idea for it to hold up. But as Dan had said before, Rowntree had a boner for the vigilante case. The vigilante was an interesting figure, a criminal who wanted to be known for his work. He had become a trophy.
Eva sat down and offered Rowntree a tempered smile. He beamed back at her.
“As gorgeous as ever, Miss Roberts.”
“Hello Gary.”
“Thanks for not bringing your worse half. I wanted us to speak frankly over a decent lunch.”
Frankly? Eva didn’t like that part. “If we’re speaking frankly, I’ll have a glass of wine.”
Rowntree called a waitress and ordered a glass of Pinot Grigio and another pint of fashionably expensive lager for himself.
“They say this place is rather good!”
“Do they?” said Eva, her eyes sharp as they held his. She didn’t have time for small talk, not when there was frank speaking to do.
“They do.” Rowntree saw her face and laid down the menu. “You want me to get down to brass tacks? I thought we could be friendly and catch up too. We were friends? We are friends, right?”
“I thought so, Gary. But it’s difficult with you and Dan hating each other so much.”
“But we all have to make sacrifices now and then, don’t we Eva?”
His eyes took on a mischievous aspect as he put his glass to his lips. “You sacrificed some things to keep your business alive. I sacrifice some things, now and then, to bring villains to book. But the ends always justify the means, am I right? I mean, we are both practical people, after all.”
Eva’s face flushed. Now she wished she had opted for small talk instead. And with his innuendo she still wondered how much he actually knew and how much he was guessing. She needed to find the limit of his knowledge without giving anything away. If he was into any kind of blackmail, for currency, favours or anything else, she had to reduce Rowntree’s bargaining power to the absolute minimum.
“Are you ready to order?”
Rowntree looked smug, and nodded at the waiter. “Yes. The scallops please, then the fillet steak and potatoes dauphinoise.”
“Good choice. And madam?”
Eva dropped her eyes to the menu but she didn’t feel like eating.
“Oh, the soup, whatever that is… then the sea bass, thank you.”
“Excellent.”
The waiter took the oversized menus and walked away.
“Look Gary, I’ve got a case in Rendon which needs all my attention, and I’ve got Dan to contend with. Whatever you’ve got to say, please just say it. But go easy on me, I’ve been through a lot lately. I presume you know what happened to us in London?”
“Yeah. Some of it filters down the grape vine. You do get yourself in some scrapes, Eva. And these days, you really are choosing the most distinguished company. Maggie Gillespie, then Alex Galvan, then Brian Gillespie? Wow. The way you’re going you’ll end up running some racket in East London yourself soon.”
Eva dropped her eyes to the glass before her. She was angry and embarrassed. She preferred anger to embarrassment.
“I did what had to be done. Maggie Gillespie came to me for help. She got killed because I couldn’t save her from the killer. Alex Galvan? He was independent enough to protect Maggie from her husband. But we had it all wrong. We thought the killer belonged to Brian Gillespie, but that was all just smoke and mirrors. Did you hear who hired the killer?”
Rowntree nodded. “Yes. Save yourself the full confession. I heard most of it already from the Met boys. I heard there was a cover up too. The spooks were involved.”
“No comment. I’ve just escaped one contract on my head. I don’t intend to say anything that the security services might want to punish me for.”
Rowntree nodded. “They’re that bad, are they?” Eva didn’t say a word. “Yes, I had heard that,” said Gary.
“You heard what I said?” said Eva. “A contract was put out on me, G
ary. The assassin who killed Maggie Gillespie targeted me too, so why have you pinned the whole thing on the vigilante?”
“Frankly. Off the record? You’re not recording this, are you Eva?”
“Trust levels really are at an all-time low, aren’t they?” said Eva.
“Not really. I always felt you were a more potent force than you were letting on, Eva. Something beyond good looks was making you smoulder in those herringbone suits.”
Eva shook her head. She knew he had always liked her, but speaking of his attraction to her was a line they never crossed, yet here he was crossing it.
“I smoulder because I do what it takes get the job done? Is that it? Gary, I’ve always done what I’ve had to do. Nothing has changed. But recently, I’ve found myself in some awkward and dangerous situations that pushed me to the limit. My business… my life was at stake. What’s your excuse?”
Gary sat up as if he’d been slapped. He cleared his throat.
“Morals and self-justification are a revolving door, Eva. Don’t judge lest ye be judged, right? That vigilante pillock battered people all over this town. My town. I’m supposed to keep the bloody place safe and free of people causing havoc like him.”
“The way I see it, this masked man is just another person tackling the same problems as you, by a different means. A quite similar means, too.”
Gary shook his head. The scallops arrived with Eva’s soup. Gary said nothing until the waiter walked away.
“No way. I’m paid to look after this town, and that guy is a psycho. He needs to go down before he kills someone.”
“Sometimes you are far more similar to Dan than you’d like to be, Gary.”
“Enlighten me,” he said, sticking a whole scallop into his big jaw.
“It’s sport, that’s all this vigilante is to you, Gary. This man is a prize and a rival. If you put all your resources into chasing the vigilante then you just might catch him. Then it’ll be you on the front page of the local rag instead of E-fits of the masked man.”
“That’s not my motivation at all, Eva,” but his voice had quietened. Eva was sure she was close to the truth.
The Dirty Game Page 2