by Mike Price
“Jeff Bagshot, political editor of the Telegraph, I’m your chairman for the evening.” It was the fifth time he had repeated the statement. “So you’re the maverick of the group, my reporter has been to some of your meetings, thinks you are winning a few people around. Do you think you have a realistic chance?”
Martin looked at the man. He was short and overweight, and looked as if he had far too many liquid lunches, but Tony had briefed him not to be fooled by appearances. Jeff Bagshot had worked for one of the national newspapers and had been highly thought of, only returning to the Midlands because of his wife’s ill health.
“If you want the truth, and after all, that is what I’m about, I really don’t know. I accept I’m up against the might of the party machinery of the three main parties. I don’t really count the Greens, but there is no doubt the average voter is pretty disillusioned with politicians in general and I am trying to tap into that dissatisfaction.”
Jeff, nodded his head, his reporter had told him that this man was striking a chord with the electorate and he could see why. He shook Martin’s hand and wished him well for this evening’s debate.
Maddy had been talking to Tony and, as Jeff moved away, came up to Martin.
“Well, what did he say?”
“Nothing much, he’s got to be impartial, can’t really comment but wished me well and I got the impression he was being sincere.”
It was now nearly seven thirty, the due time for the start of the proceedings. Jeff asked the five candidates to follow him into the main hall where a large table had been set on the stage with six chairs behind it; on the table in front of each chair was a name card, a glass and water jug.
The Green candidate, James Harrison, sat on the extreme right, then came Nick Milton, Labour then Jeff; to Jeff’s left, Jeremy Wright, Conservative, Nigel Rock, Lib Dem and finally, Martin.
Jeff introduced the panel and read out the first of the questions the audience had previously submitted.
The evening followed the pattern of the television show with some lively comments from the audience. Martin got the loudest applause of the night when he said it was an admission of their culpability by the main parties, that the last parliament had been corrupt by the fact that so many of the previous MPs had either been sacked or persuaded to stand down. The others had tried to belittle him by saying he would be irrelevant if elected but he had given a good account of himself, using Martin Bell as an example of people power. All in all, he felt rather pleased with himself. If he was to lose this contest, at least he would go down fighting. After the ‘show’ had finished, they went back stage for a drink before leaving. Maddy had been appalled by the hypocrisy of the candidates. On stage, they had been at each other’s throats, name calling and blaming each other for all the ills of the world, and now here they were in the hospitality room, laughing and drinking with each other as if they were old friends. Martin had, to his credit, kept apart from the others; he felt like Maddy, that even though there were candidates that were new to the system, the other candidates really hadn’t learnt from the mistakes of their predecessors.
Tony had congratulated him on his performance and told him that he had introduced Maddy to a number of locals, who had offered their support to his campaign. They had all been impressed with her, and expressed their hope that they would see more of her.
It was nearly midnight by the time they got back to the apartment.
“Thank you, darling, for your support, everyone fell in love with you, I knew they would.” He put his arm round her and kissed her gently on the cheek. Maddy thought that it was times like this that she really loved him, if only he wasn’t so conservative with a small ‘c’. She smiled to herself at the thought.
“What are you smiling at?” he asked.
“Just thinking what a charmer you can be when you want to.”
He smiled back at her.
“Come on, let’s get to bed I’m shattered.” He led the way into the bedroom, all thoughts of Kenton pushed to the back of his mind; he would sort him out in the morning.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Kenton looked at the ceiling of his bedroom; the paper was peeling away at the corners and like the rest of the room, was in need of some decoration. He would be glad when he could get back to his house in London, he hated hotels, they were so impersonal.
He had not felt so dejected for a long time. He could not remember a case that he had worked on that was, on the face of it, as open and shut as this, and yet so bloody frustrating. He needed to take his mind of it and relax. He was hungry but could not face another bland meal at the hotel, what he really fancied was a curry.
He showered and put on one of the fresh shirts he had thrown into the car at the last minute when he left home. Discarding the tie he always wore when he was working, he immediately felt a little more relaxed. Picking up his mobile, he noticed there was a missed call from Martin, he must have phoned while he was showering. He punched the number for the message service, and heard Martin’s voice saying not to ring tonight and that he would call him in the morning. Bloody politicians, never there when you wanted them!
He walked down the stairs to reception and waited whilst the young girl attended to a guest. Once finished, she looked up at Kenton.
“Can I help you, sir?”
“Yes, can you tell me where I can get an Indian meal?”
“Well, you’ve got plenty to choose from, do you know your way around the city?”
“Not really but I went to the cinema the other day so I know how to get to that car park, is there one nearby?”
“As a matter of fact, there is, the ‘Turmeric Gold’. I’ve been and it’s very good. It’s in what they now call Medieval Spon Street, the cinema is at one end, close to the ring road, so if you park in that car park, it’s only a few yards to walk.”
“Thank you very much.” He turned and walked out of the hotel to his car. He knew he could have walked to where the cinema was, but feeling there was rain in the air and having no coat, opted for the car.
The cinema was literally a couple of minutes from the hotel and parking in their car park, he walked through the alleyway and soon found the restaurant. There were only a few couples eating and he was led to a table near the window. He perused the menu but still chose what he always had, chicken madras, with onion bargies to start, and a bottle of fizzy water.
The service was slow in spite of the few customers, but he was in no hurry, he had all the evening to waste. As he ate his meal, he could not help thinking about the case. There was a niggle in the back of his mind about the whole business, but try as he might, he could not put his finger on what was bothering him. He went over the whole thing since Martin had first approached him.
He could not see the sense in Martin wanting to get the picture back so desperately. If it had been published, it would most likely have wrecked his marriage, but would it really have wrecked his fledgling political career. Lots of MPs had extra marital affairs and it didn’t always affect their future. He remembered Paddy Ashdown, who became known as ‘Paddy Pants Down’ and, in fact, had gained in popularity. So how secure was his marriage anyway, would it have survived an indiscretion, lots of wives forgave their errant husbands and stood by them.
He understood Martin’s reluctance to pay a blackmailer, but after all, he was a millionaire and could easily have afforded ten thousand pounds, it was just a drop in the ocean. Then there was the worry that Martin had expressed about blackmailers always coming back for more, but Kenton had met the kid and he was no hardened criminal, just a chancer who thought he could push his luck. It didn’t add up, why go to the expensive of hiring him, he could easily have handled it himself. Kenton was annoyed with himself that he hadn’t thought it through more before accepting the assignment. He had broken his own rule by not waiting twenty-four hours before agreeing to take it on. He cursed under his breath.
He thought about the lad, Joe, why had he buried the picture. Why not just h
ide it at his home, it was only a picture of a couple making love, sure it was his sister, but was there any chance of her finding it when allegedly she never even knew Joe had it. To bury it made no sense. Kenton decided he would have another word with Joe tomorrow, before he went over to Kenilworth, if for no other reason than to satisfy his own curiosity.
Finally, he wondered why the teacher’s wife had lied to him. He was sure she was lying, she had mentioned a silver cigarette case and he hadn’t. Why was she holding something back? She hadn’t even asked about the reward and they always did that. The teacher must have found the case, it made sense, no one else would have reason to dig into the ground, and the boy had been definite about where and how deep it was buried, and Kenton believed him. There must be something else in that case, something that Martin had kept from him, and he didn’t like being kept in the dark. He would have a long chat with Martin once he’d recovered the case. Tomorrow would be very interesting one way or another.
He called the waiter to bring him his bill and pulled some cash out of his pocket. He was torn on whether to leave a tip or not as he had been kept waiting but in the end decided that the food was good enough to merit one. He put the notes on the tray and called the waiter back to collect it, telling him to keep the change. It was still only half past nine and he was not ready to go back to the hotel. He had felt better following the little chat he had had with himself. He walked out of the restaurant and along the road looking in the windows of the shops as he passed. The buildings were all medieval with oak beams being the prominent feature. At the end of the road, a plaque had been erected explaining how Spon Street had been preserved in its original state to show how ancient Coventry had looked.
It was at times like this he wished that he drank; being at a loose end, it was difficult to strike up a conversation in a pub if you only had a glass of water in front of you. Having retraced his steps back along the road, he came to the cinema complex that he had visited the day before and noticed the nightclubs in the area. Kenton thought that maybe a couple of hours dancing would tire him out and get him off to sleep more easily. He checked on the door but they were not open until ten and anyway, he rightly assumed that there would be few people in there before the pubs closed. He had passed a pub on his way to the cinema, and walked back to it and went in. He could pass an hour or so before he took to the dance floor.
It was Friday and the pub was packed, mostly with young people in their twenties, although he did notice a group of men and women who looked more his age, late thirties. The barman had asked twice when he ordered a bottle of Perrier water, not quite believing that he had heard correctly. In all his time working in the pub, he could not recall anyone ordering water. Kenton took the glass and edged along the counter until he found a small space. He sipped his water and surveyed the scene; ordinary honest folk out on a Friday spending there hard earned money on a bit of entertainment or, as his cynical side kicked in, a few tossers spending their unemployment benefit. He didn’t really care; he just wanted to get back to London where he was on familiar territory.
The chatter in the pub grew louder as the alcohol began to take effect. Kenton smiled to himself; he had never drunk even as a young man and could not understand why people had to drink before they could enjoy themselves. He preferred to be in full control of all his faculties. He stood at the end of the bar, people watching, fascinated by the sheer amount of drink that some of these young men consumed. He was surprised how quickly the time passed and soon the barman was calling last orders, the room slowly emptying.
Leaving the pub, he walked back along the pedestrian way towards the cinema and nightclub complex. A steady stream of young men and women were going in the same direction, and like water funnelling through a narrow gorge, congregated at the entrance to ‘Jumping Jacks’ the nightclub he had looked at earlier. Eventually, he found himself at the head of the queue and, having paid his entrance fee, was swept along with the flow of noisy clubbers into the main dance floor. The majority of people immediately crowded around the bar as if they were desperate for their first drink of the evening. He could wait, and instead walked around the room to familiarise himself with its lay out. It was something he always did when in strange surroundings; a legacy of his army training he could not shake off.
Once the initial rush had died down, he made his way to the bar and ordered a glass of orange juice, at least it looked more like the cocktails that some of the customers were drinking. The music was loud, very loud and it had been hard to make himself heard when he ordered his drink. As he looked around, he realised that maybe this had not been such a good idea. He felt a lot older than is thirty-nine years; the majority of those on the dance floor must have been in their early twenties.
He had wanted to tire himself out to get a good night’s sleep, but it looked as though that plan would not materialise. He decided to have one more drink and then go; the noise beginning to give him a headache.
While he waited to be served, three women, who he had noticed earlier dancing together, came up to the bar to order drinks. Although he was the next person to be served, he stepped back and waved them forward in front of him.
The girl with long dark hair smiled at him and thanked him saying, “How nice to meet a gentleman for a change.”
He smiled back and mumbled, “Not many of us left.”
She grinned, whilst her two friends made some comment about her ‘being in there’, which Kenton did not quite catch. As he waited while the girls were being served, he looked more closely at the brunette. She looked a little older than her two friends, probably late twenties or early thirties, about five foot five, but in her high heels, as tall as he. She had big brown eyes and high cheekbones, and full firm breasts that were shown off by her low-cut dress. She turned and caught him looking at her, but did not show any disapproval, rather she smiled again. On the spur of the moment, he took her arm and asked if she would like to dance. For a moment, he thought he had read the signs incorrectly, but she followed him onto the dance floor without any hesitation.
The music was blaring out some record that he did not recognise, but it did not matter; the throbbing beat of the base pounding against his chest.
She could jive, unlike most young people, and moved easily to his lead. They had danced to three numbers without a break and, though he was fit, he needed a breather. He took back to the bar where her girlfriends were, but now they were three young men with them.
The girl looked worried when she saw the men standing there and quickly loosened her hold on Kenton’s hand.
“What the fuck do you think you’re up to?”
The speaker was a big man, with a haircut that was so short, at first glance he looked bald. He was about six foot two, weighing about sixteen stone, with muscles that rippled under his ‘T’ shirt. He glowered at the girl.
“I said what did you think you’re up to?”
She said nothing, just looked away, but he grabbed at her arm and roughly pulled her towards him.
“I don’t think that is any way to treat a lady,” Kenton’s voice was quiet but cold and although he could hardly be heard over the noise of the music, the man understood.
“You keep your fucking nose out of this or I’ll bust it for you.”
“I don’t think so,” Kenton spoke in the same cold even tone, his eyes fixed on the big man’s eyes.
“Look, you piece of shit, just fuck off before I lose my temper,” the big man was shouting now and was obviously a little worse for wear. His friends tried to calm him down for fear he would attract the attention of the bouncers, then they would all be thrown out.
“I think you had better try and control Dumbo before he gets hurt,” Kenton said to the two other men who were now holding on to the big man’s arms.
“I’ll see you outside, then I’ll rip your fucking head off,” was his parting shot as Kenton turned away, walked to the far end of the bar and ordered another fruit juice. So much for a quiet night dancing
, he mused.
The scene that had just been played out had brought Kenton’s bad mood back again just as he thought he would be enjoying himself. He finished his drink and looked around to see where ‘Dumbo’ and his friends were, but he could not see them anywhere. A pity, he thought, that girl was really attractive, what on earth was she doing with a thick lump like that.
He decided he’d had enough entertainment for one evening and would make his way back to the hotel. It was one o’clock anyway, much later than he would normally retire. The dance floor was still heaving as struggled through the sweaty mob towards the exit. The cool night air hit him and he shivered slightly, wishing that he had brought a coat with him. It was not far to the car park so he would soon be in the warmth.
The street was strangely quite after the noise of the club, there was nobody about; no doubt the club would not be closing before three, so it was too early for most people to be leaving. He walked along the street looking for the gap in the buildings that led to the car park. He remembered it was between two shops and was dark, someone having broken the street lamp, leaving the lamp case hanging like a broken branch. He found the opening and started to walk the thirty or so yards that would open out onto the forecourt in front of the car park.
He had only walked a couple of yards when he heard a scraping sound behind him, turning he saw the outline of the big bulk of ‘Dumbo’.
“Oi smart arse, fancy yourself as a bit of a ladies’ man, do you? Well, you picked the wrong tart this time. I’m going to teach you a lesson about keeping your hands of other people’s property.” The big man was swaying as he walked towards Kenton.
“Look, sonny, I think you should go home and sleep it off, and by the way, you shouldn’t really call your girlfriend a tart, she struck me as a very nice young lady, certainly too good for you,” Kenton spoke in the same cold controlled voice he had used in the club. Although the man was big Kenton was not at all frightened, he had handled bigger and stronger men than this lump, and they hadn’t been drunk.