by Mike Price
“You’re a mouthy little fucker; let’s see how smart you talk with a fat lip.”
As he spoke, the big man, who by now was only a foot away from Kenton, took a swing with his right hand, aiming at Kenton’s head. The man was slow and the punch telegraphed, Kenton easily swayed back so that ‘Dumbo’ almost lost his balance and stumbled, the fist drifting harmlessly past. As he twisted round following the direction of his swinging arm, Kenton fired two rapid punches to the man’s solar plexus. He coughed as his body doubled from the pain. He managed to just keep his balance by reaching out to the wall, but this left him more exposed and Kenton followed up with another blow to the body, and then a crunching hook under his chin, which nearly took his head off. The man fell crashing to the floor. Kenton looked down at him, but resisted the temptation to kick him, though he thoroughly deserved it.
Instead, he turned and began walking towards the car park. He had gone only a couple of paces when he was surprised to see ‘Dumbo’s’ two friends from the nightclub. He was about to warn them to move out of the way when they suddenly rushed him taking him by surprise. He expected to have to ride punches from either side and was trying to decide who to sort out first, but instead they just grabbed his arms, pushing him backwards the way he’d come. The tactic momentarily threw him and he was rapidly re-evaluating the situation when he felt the blade rip into his back.
Kenton gasped, the pain was excruciating and he instinctively reached his hand to where the knife had entered. He could feel the hot sticky blood seeping through his shirt. He turned to face his assailant, but could not see him immediately in the dark. He just caught a flash of steel, but too late as ‘Dumbo’ lunged forward and the blade sunk deep into his stomach. Kenton fell to his knees, the blood pouring from the wounds to his body like a river in spate.
“That’ll teach you, you fucking bastard,” were the last words that Kenton heard.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Detective Inspector Ferguson was not a happy man. He knew it was part of the job but could never get used to being woken up in the middle of the night, no matter what the reason was. His sergeant Sam Naylor had called him out at three thirty am to the murder scene, and now here they were back at Little Park Street police station, trying to piece together the reasons why a man from London should be murdered in Medieval Spon Street of all places.
It was seven thirty and his bad temper had not left him.
“Another coffee, boss?” Sam asked.
“I’ll look like bloody coffee if I drink anymore, no thanks; just let’s run through the details again, this case just doesn’t add up.”
Sam got out his notebook and read out the details of the dead man.
“Name, Stan Kenton, private investigator, office in London, lives in Marylebone Street London… I’ve got both addresses and phone numbers… Divorced, no children. Apparently, he is ex-army… Finished up in the SAS. Was highly thought of by his senior officers.”
“Yes, yes I know all that.” Ferguson had been through the details, he wanted to get to a reason for the murder.
“Sorry. His death was reported just after three by a guy who had just left Jumping Jacks nightclub; he was walking through the alley that leads to the car park, round the back of Ikea, nearly tripped over the body. He stayed with the man, not sure if he was still alive while his girlfriend called the ambulance and the police. The PC who went to the scene called into the desk sergeant who immediately called us.”
“I didn’t mean you to go over the bloody details that much, just cut to the chase.” Ferguson had moved down to the Midlands from his native Glasgow thirty years ago, but had not lost his accent and when he was irritable, the accent grew stronger.
Sam had worked with Ferguson for ten years and probably knew the man better than even his wife did, so was used to his temper.
“The man, Kenton, had been stabbed twice; probably a short bladed weapon by the depth of the cuts, but it had penetrated his liver and spleen, and caused an extreme loss of blood. The doc will give us more details later this morning when he’s finished his examination. He had not been robbed, there was five hundred pounds in his wallet, his credit cards were still in his pocket and so was his mobile phone. So I think we can rule out robbery as a motive.”
“I never like to rule anything out at this stage, but I concede it’s highly unlikely, go on.”
“As you know, we found a receipt for a hotel he has been staying at, and they have confirmed he stayed Wednesday and Thursday, checked out Friday morning, but checked back in again on Friday afternoon for one night. He asked the girl on reception if she could recommend a curry house and she told him Turmeric Gold. I’ve checked with them and they confirm he had a meal there, leaving at about nine thirty.”
“So what happened to him from nine thirty until he was stabbed at…” Ferguson looked at Sam for confirmation of the time.
“The doc thinks between one am and when he was found,” Sam read from his notes.
“So we need to find out if he stayed in the area, which seems likely, or did he go away and come back, and if so, where did he go.” Ferguson pulled at his chin, a habit he employed when he was thinking. “He had some car keys in his pocket, have we checked where the car is?”
“Yes, sir, I checked with the hotel who gave me the car registration and I got the foot patrol checking around car parks for it, I’m expecting some feedback any time now.”
“Good. Now, what about the mobile? Have you traced any calls that he’s made since he’s been visiting our fair city?”
“Jack and Angela are on to that, shall I go and see how they’re getting on?”
“Yes do that. We need to know why he was up here, if he was on an assignment and if so what it was. For all we know, this could be a contract killing, maybe he was getting a little too close to whatever it was he was looking into.” He pulled his chin again. “Or am I letting my fantasies run away with me?” he said under his breath.
Sam left the office to go, and check how Jack and Angela were doing. It was at times like this that Ferguson missed smoking; it used to calm him and make him think more clearly. He had stopped when the smoking ban in all offices and public places became law, deciding that it was a golden opportunity to kick the habit and stop Madge from nagging him at the same time. Anyway, he was not going to be one of those sad bastards who even in the pouring rain huddled together on the pavement outside. He could now only resort to tugging at his chin, which is what he was doing when the Super tapped the door and walked into his office.
“How’s the murder enquiry going? I’ve got to give something to the press, what do you think?”
“To be honest, we don’t know what we’re looking for, there seems to be no motive. I’m sure it wasn’t robbery, but it would be a good idea to appeal for witnesses. I can get you a picture off his driving license. We need to find out his movements between nine thirty and three am.”
“Okay I’ll do that. Keep me informed if there are any developments.” The Superintendent turned and left the office not seeming to hear Ferguson’s “Yes, sir” as he left.
Ferguson slumped back into his chair; there were plenty of other cases on his desk without this one. Why couldn’t he have got himself killed in London, not on my patch.
He was trying to put the different files he was currently dealing with in some kind of order, when Sam burst into the room. Ferguson gave him a look that said remember to knock in future, but pointed to a chair.
“Well, what’s exciting you?” he asked his sergeant.
“Angela’s got some numbers of outgoing and incoming phone calls. There are two that might be of interest. One belongs to a lad called Joe, no surname, and the other a chap called Martin De Glanville. De Glanville is the most interesting. It turns out he’s a prospective parliamentary candidate for the forthcoming election and wait for it, he’s standing for Kenilworth.” Sam had a smile which said ‘aren’t I clever’ all over his face.
Ferguson desperately want
ed to say ‘isn’t Angela clever’, but did not want to spoil his moment of glory.
“Well done. Have you contacted either of them?”
“Yes, the lad’s coming in at one thirty and I’ve arranged for us to meet De Glanville at his campaign headquarters in Kenilworth in half an hour. So we’d better get a move on.”
Ferguson got out of his chair and stretched, the tiredness from lack of sleep slowing his movements. He grabbed his jacket from the hook behind the door and followed Sam out.
“What do you think the connection with this De Glanville character is then, boss?”
“Your guess is as good as mine, but there’s one way to find out,” Ferguson replied as they strode across the tarmac to the car park.
Twenty minutes later, they were in the outer office waiting to meet the candidate.
De Glanville came out of a side door and greeted them. The two detectives introduced themselves, showed their warrant cards and followed him back through the doorway he had just come from.
The room was small with a table in the middle and four chairs, surrounded by cardboard boxes. Ferguson looked quizzically at the boxes.
“Sorry that it’s so cramped, these,” he pointed to the packages, “are all my election leaflets waiting for my loyal volunteers to distribute them. Anyway, how can I help you?”
Ferguson looked at Martin trying to weigh him up and deciding he wouldn’t jump to any conclusions, rather wait and see how this little chat went.
“Do you know a man by the name of Stan Kenton?” Ferguson asked.
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do, why?”
“He was found murdered in the early hours of this morning, in Coventry.” Ferguson studied Martin closely as he waited for his reaction.
“Oh my god, murdered, but who, why?”
“We don’t know the answers to those questions yet, but can you tell me what your relationship with him was?”
“Certainly. He’s a sort of investigator, very discreet, recommended to me by a friend; he was doing a little job for me.”
“May I ask what that job was?”
As Ferguson asked the questions, Sam wrote Martin’s replies down in his notebook.
“Yes, well it was nothing really; you see I lost a cigarette case, silver though not very valuable, but worth a lot to me for sentimental reasons. I suspected one of my volunteers had pinched it and I wanted to get it back without too much fuss, so employed Kenton to make some enquiries for me.”
“The person you suspected wouldn’t be someone called Joe by any chance, would it?” Sam spoke for the first time. Ferguson thought he saw Martin’s face redden slightly at the mention of Joe’s name, but was not sure.
“Yes, yes it was.”
“Did Kenton get your property back Mr De Glanville?” Ferguson was looking him straight in the eye, checking if the man was telling them the truth.
“No, unfortunately not, I understand we were too late, the lad had sold it.”
“Did you notify the police of the original theft?” Ferguson knew the answer even before Martin spoke.
“No, I’m sorry, I suppose I should have, but it was not exactly the crown jewels and I did not want to get the lad into trouble, just get my property back.”
The answer seemed plausible, but Ferguson had a nagging doubt in the back of his head that there was more to this than Martin was letting on.
“Well, thank you for your help, sir, here’s my card. If you think of anything else that might help us with our enquiries, please give me or my sergeant a ring.”
Ferguson stood up and Sam followed him, snapping shut his notebook as he rose. The two policemen walked back to their car and got in.
“Well, Sam, what did you think of him?”
“He seemed pretty straight to me, he’s charming, but I suppose that goes with the territory, being a politician I mean.”
“Yes I agree, he seemed genuine but I could have sworn he coloured up when you mentioned Joe’s name. I just can’t help feeling he’s holding something back, but I certainly don’t think he’s our killer. Nevertheless, it wouldn’t do any harm to discreetly check up on his movements last night.”
Ferguson put the car into gear, and swung out onto the High Street and headed back to Coventry.
It was just before one thirty when Ferguson’s phone rang.
“Hello, yes, bring him through, will you, and ask Sam Naylor to come in as well.” He put the phone down and waited for the desk sergeant to bring Joe into his office.
The sergeant knocked the door and ushered the young man into the office, Sam following just behind them.
Ferguson pointed to a chair, indicating the lad should sit down.
“Joe, we have asked you in to help us with an investigation we are conducting. I believe you know a man called Kenton, a private investigator, is that correct?” Ferguson looked straight at the lad, noticing that he was a well-built young man who obviously looked after himself, and looked strong enough to take on the smaller Kenton.
“Yes, I’ve met him. Why do you ask?” It was the first time Ferguson had heard him speak and he was surprised the lad’s voice was not as deep as he had expected it to be.
“How old are you, Joe?” The inspector asked.
“Just turned sixteen.”
Ferguson’s eyebrow rose slightly; he had thought the lad must be about nineteen from his build.
“I have to tell you that Mr Kenton was murdered last night and we are investigating the crime.” He watched the boy’s reaction as the words sank in; the boy looked genuinely shocked. “I have spoken to a Mr De Glanville who alleges you took a cigarette case belonging to him and M. Kenton came to see you to recover the same. It is my understanding you have already sold the said property, is that correct?”
Joe shuffled uneasily in his chair, but said nothing.
“Look, son, we’re not interested in the theft and Mr De Glanville has said that he does not want to press charges, all we are interested in is trying to find who killed Mr Kenton.”
The boy looked relieved and nodded. It was clear to him that Martin had not mentioned the blackmail for fear of being exposed and with the man Kenton dead, there was nobody who could know about their relationship.
“Yeah, I met the man you’re talking about and he said there was a reward if I returned the case, but I told him I’d already sold it, only got a bloody tenner for it anyway,” he added the last bit to make the story sound more believable.
“When was the last time you saw Mr Kenton?” Sam had said nothing up until now.
“Wednesday, he drove up from London, waste of a journey if you ask me.”
Ferguson looked at Sam. That would tie up with the information from the hotel but still didn’t answer the question why he stayed on Thursday and then decided to stay a further night on Friday.
“Can you tell me where you were on Friday between nine thirty and three am?” Ferguson didn’t think the boy was involved, but wanted to make sure he could eliminate him from the investigation.
Joe hesitated for a moment before answering, he could not tell them the truth; that he had been entertaining clients on his old stamping ground at the Rainbow.
“I stayed in and watched an old video, couldn’t afford to go out. My mum was there; she can vouch for me.”
Ferguson pulled his chin, he didn’t believe the lad for one minute, but he was still convinced he had nothing to do with the killing. If this young man had been involved, he would have taken the cash in Kenton’s pocket, the credit cards and phone too. He had already admitted that he was a petty thief. Ferguson looked across at Sam, who nodded; they had both come to the same conclusion.
“Alright, that will be all for now, but we may need to speak to you again.”
Joe stood up and Sam led him back to the reception desk.
When he came back, he sat down opposite Ferguson.
“What now then, boss? It seems to put those two in the clear.”
“Yes, I tend to agree with
you but there’s more to it than either are letting on. I don’t think it’s got anything to do with the murder and we have enough on our plate without delving into their affairs. It just makes me wonder why anyone would employ a private detective to look for a cigarette case worth only a tenner and why did Kenton stay in the area after he had been told the case could not be recovered. Perhaps we’ll never know, but it does make me wonder.” He pulled at his chin and Sam smiled, he knew Ferguson hated a mystery that he couldn’t solve.
Chapter Thirty
Martin was shaking as he watched the two policemen pull away. He had agreed to meet them at the campaign office as Maddy was still at the flat, and there would have been far too many questions raised by her if they had interviewed him there. He was convinced they had believed his story about the theft and, with Kenton dead, there was no one else, other than Joe of course, who knew about the photo. He suddenly stopped his train of thought; there was someone else, the man Shakespeare, Kenton was supposed to be seeing. Kenton had said he believed Shakespeare had dug up the cigarette case and still had it.
The news of Kenton’s death had come as a surprise and had momentarily thrown him off balance. He was not sure what to do next. Kenton had not given him Shakespeare’s address so he could not contact him, and he didn’t want to get someone else involved snooping around for him, not while the police were investigating a murder. He decided it would be best to let things lie. At least, Kenton had got Joe off his back and if this new man on the scene was going to use the photo to blackmail him, surely, he would have been in touch by now.
Martin felt slightly easier having thought things through, he wanted to put the whole affair out his mind to concentrate on his election campaign, after all, it was less than two weeks until polling day.
Martin was still deep in thought when Tony tapped him on the shoulder making him jump.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“No, no it’s all right, I was just thinking about how things were going.” He was finding the lies easily tripped off his tongue and it worried him that he might be falling into the trap of becoming like every other politician. If he was, then Tony, for one, hadn’t noticed.