Between Two Thieves

by Solomon Carter

  Norton shook his head. “There you go again. Anything else. What does that mean, Bradley? Is something else out there?”

  “I’ll be asking the questions, Vic.”

  Their eyes jousted in silence for a moment.

  “No,” said Norton. “I’m afraid not.”

  “Then what have you heard?”

  “That’s the thing. Nothing. That Saxon King stuff, the belt buckle, the silver stick, none of it has been shifted through any of the pubs I know of. I would have heard about it if it did.”

  Dan frowned. “You’re telling the truth?”

  “Yes. I would have heard. That Saxon treasure never reached the circuit.” Norton leaned closer and his eyes shone. “And that means it could be an inside job.”

  Dan shook his head. “I don’t think so. But it still doesn’t make sense. One of you would have heard of it. What about the market traders? Could they have been involved in the robbery somehow? Norman Peters certainly ended up dead over something.”

  “Same answer. It can’t have been the treasure you’re after. I would have heard if Tommy Pink and his crew had got hold of it. Those boys would have definitely put the feelers out to try and sell it.”

  “Is that how it works?” said Dan. “They put the feelers out?”

  “Are you still asking about your missing treasure or about Tommy Pink, Mr Bradley?”

  Dan’s eyes gleamed. “I’m asking you about everything they sell.”

  Norton drew back in his chair. His eyes gleamed brighter than ever. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Yes you do. But I’m not paying for that information, because I think I know enough already. I asked you about Carl Renton and you didn’t give me anything. I asked you about the stolen treasure and you tell me no one’s seen it.”

  “Actually, you asked me about two different sets of gold, didn’t you? Care to tell me anymore?”

  “Leave it, Vic. Leave well alone,” said Dan. “Then you didn’t want to tell me anything about the market men either. Seems the supergrass is losing his touch. I guess you’d better give me my money back.”

  Dan proffered an empty hand.

  “I’ll never lose my touch,” said Norton. He didn’t move a muscle and ignored Dan’s hand. “I can’t help it if you don’t like it when I answer in the negative. It’s all still information, Bradley.

  “You owe me some info, Vic,” Dan said, standing up.

  “But I told you all there is to know,” said Norton. Dan scanned the old man’s eyes once more before he stood up. He sensed the old scoundrel was telling the truth.

  “Until next time, then,” said Norton.

  “I guess so,” said Dan, turning away. He walked past the grey-beard and little Alfie. The grey-beard scowled and turned his back, but Alfie raised a hand and waved goodbye. Dan nodded back and walked out into the sunshine, still grappling with his problem. Clancy’s Celtic torq, his other treasures, and the council’s Saxon King items had been stolen, yet no one had heard of them on the black market ever since. And the pub black market was like one big network, an all-seeing-eye of underworld opportunities. And if the Sutland Arms hadn’t seen it, then it wasn’t for sale. On top of that, from Vic Norton’s words he now had to presume Carl Renton was dead, and yet no one knew what had actually happened to him and there was no body. That seemed unlikely too. But Vic Norton was the man who would have known either way. If Vic Norton didn’t know – or wouldn’t tell – something was seriously wrong. The only proven link they’d found to Carl Renton was a dead man with his silver tin, and poor old Norman Peters couldn’t tell them a damn thing no matter how much fuss Dan caused. Dan looked up to the sky in appeal and folded his hands behind his head. It felt like the case was finally beyond them, every door was shutting, every angle blocked. Without a lucky break, a very loose tongue, or a new discovery, Dan didn’t see how they were ever going to get Clancy’s treasures back to earn their fee.

  But in his moment of impasse Dan found he had an insight. Two, in fact, because one followed the other.

  The first came from experience. A dead man couldn’t talk, but his body could still tell them something. The police pathologist must have learned something, though Dan knew it would be difficult to prise the information from Hogarth, no matter what he’d promised Eva.

  And then came another realisation. They had no idea when Norm Peters came into possession of Renton’s silver snuff box – a detail which mattered a lot. If Renton had lost his snuff tin a day or two back, Peters might easily have found it long before he died. Which took them back to the realm of pure coincidence between the Peters’ murder and Renton’s disappearance. But if Carl Renton did have the snuff tin when he left the Clancy house just before he went missing, it had serious implications about the nature of their disappearance... and who might have been responsible.

  The thought struck Dan like a needle-shot of adrenaline in the chest. He had to know for sure. He darted across the street, heading back towards his car parked at the corner on Warrior Square. And when he was only halfway across the street, a familiar voice called out his name. He turned to see Joanne waving at him wildly from across the street. The girl broke into a jog to reach him. When he saw the excitement in her eyes he wasn’t sure if he was ready for Joanne’s drama. But it didn’t look like he had any choice in the matter.

  “Dan! I’m so glad—”

  “Are you okay?” said Dan.

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Then whatever else it is, Joanne, hold your fire. I’ve got something I need to discuss with Inspector Hogarth.”

  “But this is urgent, Dan.”

  “So’s this.” Dan led the way to the car leaving Joanne in his wake.

  But in the end, Dan wasn’t able to hold back the flood. As soon as they were in the Egomobile, Joanne cut loose on what she had seen. And only when she was done was Dan allowed to make his call.

  Twelve

  Detective Inspector Joe Hogarth wasn’t exactly one of Dan’s all-time favourite policemen, but seeing as the case needed a shake-up, and Eva was busy dealing with her ex-friend problem, Dan had no choice but to put in the call. In the end, it only took one rejected call and a follow up before Hogarth eventually relented and took the call. “

  Hogarth. It’s Bradley,” said Dan.

  “I know. The wonders of modern technology and all that. But you’re not the one who normally calls. Has Miss Roberts finally put you to work for a change?”

  “I’m always working, Inspector. I just don’t like wading through red tape like you guys.”

  “Neither do I. But it’s called procedure, Bradley. Helps a prosecution case last beyond the first session. Did you actually want something from me, because you may have heard I’ve got a murder investigation to be getting on with?”

  “So it was murder?”

  “I’d say so,” said Hogarth. “Norman Vincent Peters suffered a broken jaw from multiple impacts with a heavy implement. We know that much. I’m told there’s still more to come on the toxicology side of things, but that’s not in yet.”

  “And you’re seriously expecting something from toxicology?”

  “Our pathologist seems to think so.”

  “Ubers,” said Dan. “He had a pocketful of them as well as that tin.”

  “Possibly more than that too. We found a scrap of a plastic bag snagged in the wood underneath the seat of the boat – the boat that Peters’ body was found under. The plastic had traces of MDMA on it in levels consistent with these Ubers.”

  “The boat? You’re saying the boat was used to stash the stuff before Peters died?”

  “Could be. But if so any sign of a stash was long gone. Who knows where, eh? In this town it’s probably already down the junkies’ necks.”

  “But that’s interesting, anyway. It means the boat might not have been a random pick.”

  “It doesn’t mean anything yet. Toxicology might give us something.”

  “Have you heard anything on Carl Renton as
yet?”

  “The Record’s missing missionary? No. Nothing yet. It’s not even a MisPer case yet.”

  “We went to Renton’s rehab operation yesterday. The staff are in a flap, and the rehab clients, the junkies and the alcoholics share the same theory that something bad must have happened to him. The rest of the local grapevine agrees.”

  “The bad little grapes always seem to agree with one another,” Hogarth observed.

  “According to the people who know him best, Carl Renton had taken to staking out several areas in the town – known hotspots for drug importing.”

  “A dangerous move for a lone wolf. And what was his plan then? To gather evidence for police?”

  “Possibly, but I doubt it. I’ve rubbed shoulders with guys like Carl Renton before at The Refuge foodbank. He’s what I think of as a true believer. His kind of stake-outs would have involved a lot of praying for divine intervention, for something to happen to turn back the drugs.”

  “For a miracle, in other words.”

  “A true believer, like I said. But Carl Renton was also an action man. I heard that too. He might well have tried to intervene.”

  “Which means he was naïve on all fronts.”

  “People like him are different to you and me, Hogarth. We’ve been kicked around one too many times. But Renton was one of the eternal optimists. The world still needs them whether we get it or not.”

  “If Carl Renton got himself killed because of believing in fairy tales then he’s only added to my workload.”

  “Either way, it seems Renton’s rehab clients knew what he was up to – and a lot of other people did – which means there’s a fair chance that the traffickers could have been warned about him in advance.”

  Hogarth sighed. “Bloody hell,” he muttered. “Then it was a damned risky business from the start.”

  “I know. But it sheds some light on Renton’s disappearance, don’t you think?”

  “That forty-eight hours isn’t quite up yet, Bradley. I’ll concentrate my fire on Norman Peters’ case until then.”

  “Making any progress there?”

  “Anything else you want to know? My shoe size? What I had for breakfast perhaps? Give us a chance, Bradley. If I’d had the evidence you held back, it might have been easier.”

  “Peters was a dodgy market trader with Uber pills in his pocket and a silver tin which belonged to Carl Renton. You’ve just said there was a trace of another package in that old boat...”

  “And? What are you saying? We already know the man sold cheap fashion items at Southend and Basildon Markets.”

  “People like him sell everything. I just heard Peters used to sell stuff at the pubs too. You tried that circuit?”

  “To be clear, you’re suggesting Norman Peters was selling Ubers?”

  “It’s possible.”

  “It’s far more likely he was a user. A lot of fools are, and Norman Peters strikes me more as a fool than a mastermind.”

  “Fine, stick with that opinion for now if you must. But Peters did have the silver case, Hogarth. He’s linked to Carl Renton somehow... what if he was involved in what happened?”

  “To Carl Renton? But so far nothing has happened, has it? Officially, he’s not even missing.”

  “You shouldn’t hide behind that red tape, Hogarth.”

  “This red tape means I can concentrate on one crime at a time and get them solved. If Carl Renton really has disappeared, we’ll look at the meaning behind the silver tin then. Be satisfied you’ve put the link on my radar.”

  “Bully for me,” said Dan. “When the forty-eight hours is up you really need to think about what part Norman Peters might have played in the man’s disappearance. He was there, Hogarth, I’m sure of it.

  “Have you seen Carl Renton’s photo in the paper?” said Hogarth. “He was a very big man.”

  “I’ve seen it.”

  “You have seen Norman Peters, haven’t you?” said Hogarth. “He made Pee Wee Herman look like Arnold Schwarzenegger.

  “I saw him,” said Dan.

  “Then you’ll know Peters was a short-arsed market trader in clown clothes. Not exactly your classic giant-killing psycho if you ask me.”

  “I didn’t ask. Like you said, I just put another link on your radar. Catch you soon, Inspector.”

  “You can certainly try,” said Hogarth. Hogarth ended the call first. Dan shook his head as he looked at his phone screen.

  “That guy,” he said to Joanne, who was sitting in the front passenger seat – Eva’s usual place. It was strange to see a different female face riding shotgun. “Why didn’t you tell him about what I saw? About the rucksack and the hand-over in the pub at Southend Central?”

  “Because Hogarth wouldn’t have heard it. He barely listened to me as it was. He’s got a one-track mind, and all of it is focused on Norman Peters – the body under the boat at the beach. He couldn’t deal with talking about Carl Renton let alone anything else. Besides, you only know what you think you saw.”

  “I saw that skinny market trader handing a half-full rucksack to a young guy who boarded the train to London. That could easily have been Clancy’s gold.”

  “Hmmmm,” said Dan, his brow dipping low over his dark eyes. They were still parked at the side of Warrior Square. Dan stared vacantly across the green as he was lost in thought.

  “We can check it out. But first, there’s something I need to talk to Joe about. But it might be handy you’re with me.”

  “Why?” said Joanne, as Dan started the engine.

  “Joe Clancy likes to play the closed book. But his girlfriend, Georgie, she isn’t so shut down. Maybe you could try chatting a little more information out of her.”

  Joanne nodded, and Dan saw the hint of pride showing on her face. Even though the girl could be a nuisance sometimes, Joanne was enthusiastic enough to be an asset. Every now and again, she came in handy. Dan turned the Egomobile out onto the street. The engine roared as they headed down along Southchurch Road.

  Joe Clancy looked pale again. Dan saw the patch of sweat above his lip and he didn’t look altogether happy to see them. Joe looked at each of them and kept the door held close to the frame until Georgie appeared at his shoulder and pulled it wide open.

  “So, where are the others?” said Joe, his eyes flicking around the street behind them.

  “Busy looking for your father’s missing treasure, like half the rest of town.”

  “And what about Carl?” he said. Georgie patted Joe on the back, her face full of sympathy.

  “Still missing, I’m afraid. Though there are some things I’d like to discuss with you about him.”

  The young man frowned and stepped away from the door.

  “You’d best come in then.”

  Dan and Joanne nodded and walked in. Dan watched Joanne mouth something to the girl, asking if the young Clancy was okay. Georgie shrugged. Dan followed Joe into the living room and they sat down in the deep leather armchairs. Joe regarded him cautiously.

  “You’ve found something, haven’t you...? You found something and you want to break it to me gently.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “I suppose I’m worried, that’s all,” said the young man.

  Dan picked through the ways to ask his questions without causing the kid to suffer an emotional breakdown. He took a breath and slowly began.

  “You heard about the death at Southchurch seafront. At the marine centre.”

  Joe Clancy nodded, “You told me already,” he said. He wiped his brow and stared at Dan as if it was a feat of concentration.

  “You really need to get a doctor, Joe,” said Dan.

  “It’s okay. Carry on, please.”

  “Whatever you say. The guy was called Norman Peters. This is important. I need to know if you’ve ever heard that name anywhere before?”

  Joe shook his head and pursed his lips. His eyes were still fixed on Dan’s. There was something about the look in his eyes, something odd. Da
n couldn’t place it, so he moved on. Joe was a weird kid alright, unwell too, but definitely weird and maybe even more awkward than Mark. Which was something of a feat for anyone.

  “Norman Peters was a market trader. He sold cheap fashion at the local markets. We found the silver snuff tin – Carl Renton’s tin, in his pocket.”

  “I know. You told me that already.”

  “Yes, we did. But we didn’t actually ask you any questions about it.”

  “Such as?” said Joe, with a hint of impatience.

  “How do you think Norman Peters might have gotten hold of that tin? And when?”

  “Why are you asking me?”

  “Because you were close to Mr Renton. And you remembered the tin.”

  Joe nodded again. Joanne’s eyes were on him too. Joe sweated some more and wiped his brow. Georgie pulled a tissue from a pocket and handed it to him.

  “The tin,” said Joe. “He always had that tin on him.”

  “And you can confirm that Carl came here on the night he disappeared. Yes?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Unfortunately, that’s true.”

  “Why unfortunately?” said Dan.

  “Unfortunate because it was the last I saw of him. And because we rowed.”

  “You had a row with him?” said Dan. He shifted in his chair and shot a glance at Georgie.

  “Yes, I actually dropped a big hint about it before. Carl was pushy when it came to his faith, and I wasn’t very forthcoming with him on the religious front. I think sometimes Carl saw me as potential convert, and other times, I wasn’t so close as he would have liked.”

  Dan recalled the tract in the kitchen bin. “Did you ever come close to joining Carl’s faith?”

  “I liked Carl, and I’ll admit, I was lonely. Sometimes I might have played along or seemed more enthusiastic than I actually was. I valued him as a friend. But that night I began to feel more like a scalp in the Christian conversion game – more like a trophy than a friend.”

  “Hey,” said Georgie. “That’s not fair. You weren’t well that night, you were in a bad mood, so you treated him badly. I think that’s all that happened.”

  “You were there? Did you see their row?” asked Dan.