by Jack Benton
Slim’s phone buzzed. He lifted the old Nokia to his ear. ‘Don? Yeah, up early, guess it’s a habit. You too, I suppose. Thanks for getting back to me, I really appreciate it.’
On the other end of the line, Donald Lane said, ‘Still got nothing yet on that abattoir, but the two kids, that’s an easy one.’
‘Go on.’
‘Was a while back. Oh five. House fire. It made the local BBC news for a day or two. Two kids left at home, eight and nine. Mother was out shopping instead of watching them.’
‘Where?’
‘I’m looking at a map of Scuttleworth now. Would have been on the road midway between the town and the abattoir. Got torn down.’
‘Arson?’
‘Place was an old leasehold, wiring found not to meet safety standards. The landlord got prosecuted, fined, made hefty payouts to both families.’
‘The landlord?’
‘Michael Ozgood. Oliver’s father. Died in 2006, leaving the estate and businesses to his only son.’
Slim whistled through his teeth. There was worse to come; he could sense it.
‘And these kids … who were they?’
‘The oldest boy was Colin Kent, son of a local builder.’
Slim nodded. He remembered seeing Kent & Sons on a sign outside the local builder’s merchant.
‘And the other?’
A pause. ‘You ready for this, Slim?’
‘Hit me with it.’
‘Steven Sharp. Aged eight. Dennis Sharp’s younger half-brother.’
‘I need a drink.’
‘I thought you might. Hold on a minute. I’m not done.’
‘I heard a rumour Dennis Sharp was involved.’
‘Not exactly. He was working on a neigbouring property, building a stone wall. In the inquest, his mother, Shelly Holland, claimed she had told him she was going out, that he had promised to watch them. Dennis backed up her claim. As the crow flew, he was less than two hundred metres away. He could have heard the kids if one of them shouted, and he definitely should have heard the fire or seen the smoke. Yet by the time he made it back there, the house was an inferno, the two boys trapped inside, already long dead.’
Slim rubbed his eyebrow. ‘Wow. That’s suspicious as hell. Was there an investigation?’
‘Yes. Dennis Sharp was considered a suspect, but the faulty wiring claim held up. The bodies of the two boys were found in the loft, where they had apparently been playing. Trapped by the smoke and fearing the fire downstairs, they tried to get out through a skylight that had rusted shut, according to the police report. Both suffocated from smoke inhalation. That was given as the cause of death. Of course their bodies were burned badly too, making identification difficult. Colin Kent was identified by dental records. Steve Sharp by a pendant he wore round his neck.’
Slim frowned. ‘But not by dental records.’
Don sighed. ‘He had no such record, as far as I could find out. I’m guessing that leaving the boys alone wasn’t the only sign of motherly neglect.’
Slim nodded. ‘Thanks, Don.’
‘All good. I’ll fax you the information if you can get me a number.’ A chuckle. ‘Where should I send the invoice? The usual place? Slim at sweet oblivion dot com?’
Slim laughed. ‘Yeah, that would do. I owe you, Don.’
A chuckle. ‘As always. Speak to you soon, Slim.’
As soon as he hung up the call, Slim leaned forward, head in his hands. It was happening all over again.
The time to back out was gone. The noose of curiosity had looped itself around his neck, and for better or worse, it was drawing tight.
18
To the northeast, the road clung to the brow of the hill, angling out of sight as it passed the flat roof of Vincent’s, just visible above a line of trees. Before the road passed the abattoir, however, it dipped into a nearly invisible bowl, before rising again on the other side. A mechanics yard sat at the bottom of the shallow hill, lines of junked cars framing the road on either side.
In one corner was the plot where Dennis Sharp’s family had lived, now replaced by a steel framed garage.
Slim watched a tendril of smoke rising into the air and listened to the distant thud of a hammer. The smoke rose from a small metal rubbish bin in one corner of the yard, while behind the hammering came the faint crackle of a radio voice broken by musical jingles.
Slim glanced behind him. The gateway where he stood shared a hedge with the adjoining property, a holiday let where Dennis Sharp had supposedly been working that day.
Don had followed up with a fax Slim had arranged at a post office in Harton, the next village to Scuttleworth’s east. The two-hour roundtrip walk had been worth it to avoid Croad’s involvement, but on the return journey, instead of heading straight back to the cottage, Slim had walked up through Scuttleworth to test out a theory.
The long-term holiday let had been unoccupied at the time of the fire. Slim had asked Don to check the weather on that day, and blue skies should have left the fire’s smoke as visible as a firework display. Standing here by the gate, Slim could confirm any shouts from the boys or even the fire itself would have been easily audible.
Yet Dennis Sharp had done nothing.
On a follow-up call, Don had provided Slim with further details. Dennis’s excuse: he had been wearing headphones, as he supposedly often did as he worked. And a single reliable witness had backed up his claim, an upstanding pillar of the community.
Ollie Ozgood.
19
Slim rubbed his temples as he sat at the kitchen table, staring at his scrawled notes. A note pinned to the door had informed him that Croad was coming over just after lunch, leaving Slim barely an hour to collect his thoughts and then hide them before Ozgood’s henchman showed up.
Stay focused, Slim tried to remind himself. He was being paid to discover if Dennis Sharp was still alive, but his investigation was leading him towards alternative reasons why he might have died.
Was it really true that Ozgood would have killed a man, risking his own future over a supposed rape even his daughter claimed was consensual? According to Croad’s notes, Dennis Sharp had been thirty-eight at the time of his alleged crime, Ellie Ozgood sixteen. By British law, her age made Ellie legally an adult. It wasn’t usual, but not impossible for a girl of her age to be involved with a man of his. Had killing him been necessary? A roughing up and a running out of town might have been more realistic.
Now, though, there was a case for an alibi. What if Dennis Sharp had been in some way involved in the deaths of the two boys? If Ozgood had used his standing in the community to push an alibi, it was clear that Dennis Sharp owed his boss a debt.
Had there been another reason for his murder that Ozgood was keeping quiet?
The sound of Croad’s old Marina made Slim sit up. He gathered his papers together, put them into a plastic file, and slid the whole thing into a narrow space behind the fridge.
Croad was wearing an old QPR shirt which looked like it had been dragged through a forest. The team crest was still visible, but the sponsor’s logo was a churned, stained mess.
‘Wore this me first friendly with the first eleven,’ Croad said, noticing Slim’s look. ‘Came on as a sub at seventy minutes. Put through this pass from mid which the lad up front hit against the woodwork. We went down two one.’
Slim smiled. ‘What’s on today’s schedule?’
‘Got a place you ought to see,’ Croad said. ‘Let’s go. Engine’s still running.’
Whether Croad was stalling to see if Slim would talk or just felt like he should be involved, Slim didn’t know, but a drive out to the duel carriageway overpass where Dennis Sharp’s message had requested the money be left seemed to serve no great purpose.
Slim leaned on a metal railing beside Croad, watching the cars rushing by on the way to and from the Southwest. From here, of Ozgood’s estate only the manor house to the north and a farm due northeast were visible. Scuttleworth was hidden by trees, as was Vincen
t’s, but the uppermost point of the church spire just appeared out of the valley’s dip.
‘Right here, bang in the middle, ninth pole along,’ Croad said, kicking the nearest barrier support for emphasis. ‘In a black leather bag tied so it hangs over the carriageway, out of sight of the bridge road. One million quid in cash, two weeks from now. He’s having a laugh, right?’
Slim nodded. ‘Ozgood has no intention of paying up?’
‘None. He’s not even coming back until that afternoon, and he’s only doing that to see if Den shows up.’
‘Where is he now?’
‘France. On business. He doesn’t like getting his hands dirty, but I think for Den he’d make an exception. Found him yet?’
‘I’m still working on the assumption that it’s stolen identity. But let’s say it is Den. What kind of man was he?’
‘I told you before. Tough but decent, always had a smile and a joke but you know, he would wrestle a tree out of the ground.’
‘That’s not a lot to go on. I’m trying to get inside his personality.’
‘That what you coppers call investigating, is it?’
‘I’m not a copper, but yeah, it can help. Did he like music, art? TV? What kind of stuff would he watch?’
Croad scoffed. ‘Didn’t have one, what I saw only time I went round his house. And he wasn’t one for much else. Didn’t see no books, nothing like that.’
And no music, by association? Slim wanted to ask the question but Croad was still staring off into the distance, pretend chewing, considering something.
‘He liked building these models,’ Croad said at last.
‘What, like Airfix, plastic planes, something like that?’
‘Nah, from scratch. Little people made out of wire and twigs. Put them in poses, sat them on his window sills. Gave them braids made out of corn, like they was Afros or something, or dresses made from leaves. Little ballerinas. I remember he lamped someone in the pub what called him a poof, this guy who’d gone over to pick up an old sink Den was offloading, and had a look around. Was only joking but Den nailed him. You didn’t mess with Den. Man who climbs trees and lugs rocks for a living ain’t a guy you take on in the boozer even after a skinful.’
Slim nodded. ‘Sounds like a tough guy with a sensitive side.’
Croad laughed. ‘Yeah, all like that, ain’t we?’
Slim said nothing. He let the silence fall between them, then, as he had hoped, Croad felt the need to fill it.
‘Think he gave them to his kid brother, the one what died.’
‘He had a brother who died?’ Slim feigned surprise. ‘You never mentioned him.’
‘Not really important, was it? Died in a fire, what, oh four or five? I forget now.’
Slim didn’t correct him. ‘What happened?’ he said.
‘Don’t know much except what the cops said. Kid and his mate playing at Den’s mum’s place. Wiring was bad. Was one of Mr. Ozgood’s properties. Den was supposed to be watching the kids from the next property over while he was doing some maintenance work, but he went into town or something. Mr. Ozgood covered for him. Everyone was proper suspicious, saying Den did those kids in, but Mr. Ozgood got him out of that fire. Came out that the wires was bad and Old Mr. Ozgood got dinged. Ruined his reputation. Some said that did for him. Mr. Ozgood wasn’t having any of that fall on him, though. He had his old man cough up to have every property put through proper safety testing. Cost him a packet I imagine.’
Slim just nodded. Separating the elements of truth in Croad’s words from what felt like blind loyalty to his boss would take some doing. The old man was giving up more than he ever had before, even if Slim was no closer to figuring out what was going on.
‘Where’s all this leading?’ Croad said at last.
Slim sighed. ‘Way I can figure it, on the surface it doesn’t look like there’s any reason why Dennis Sharp—living or dead—would have any reason to blackmail Ozgood other than as a comeback against his own murder, which makes no sense, does it?’
‘Why not?’
‘Because if he was dead, he’d have nothing to complain about, and if he wasn’t….’ Slim trailed off, unsure where his train of thought was leading.
Croad’s hand fell on Slim’s shoulder. Wiry fingers squeezed flesh, and while there was nothing in Croad’s strength that Slim couldn’t have thrown off, there was a latent threat he found alarming.
‘Just remember who’s paying you,’ Croad said. ‘Find out if Den Sharp is alive, and if not, who’s sending the threats. Don’t concern yourself with anything else. What’s past is past.’
20
Clora buzzed him inside as she had done on his first visit. At the top of the stairs, he found she had made a vague attempt to clean up, with passageways cleared through the junk leading into the kitchen and back through into the living room, where Clora sat, as she had before, in an armchair facing the nearly concealed TV.
‘Slim, isn’t it?’ she said, gesturing for him to sit down. Almost as soon as he’d cleared a space she made a repeated request for tea. ‘You’ll have to boil the kettle,’ she added. ‘You’re in luck, though. Got a gap in my shows. Been meaning to get cable, but you know, I did get a box once, but down here in the valley I could never get the picture clear. Gave up in the end.’
‘I could help you set one up if you like,’ Slim said. ‘I’m not much of a handyman, but I did a bit of electrics work back in the army.’
‘Could you? That would be a love. Home help came round the other day but they just move stuff about, you know. Don’t listen to a word I say.’
‘Home help?’
‘Cos I’m on disability, see?’ She shifted in the chair, her body rippling as though for emphasis. ‘I can’t get around like I used to and I can’t manage those stairs. Dennis used to bring a box of stuff over from the shop once a week.’ Clora smiled. ‘That’s how we got acquainted.’
Slim must have shown some surprise in his face, because Clora abruptly added, ‘Oh, I never used to look like this. When you can’t do nothing but eat and watch TV you end up in a vicious cycle. It’s my hip. I bust it loading hog carcasses onto a lorry. He never did payout, that….’ Clora trailed off, turning to glare at the host of some chat show as though she had been done a personal slight.
‘I came to talk to you about Den,’ Slim said. ‘I know you were involved. I just wanted to know what he was like.’
Clora frowned. ‘Why would you care? I thought you were looking for his relatives?’
Slim smiled. It would be better to tell her before the latest lies made their rounds. ‘That wasn’t entirely true. I am a private investigator, but I’m investigating a fraud claim. Specifically a rumour that Dennis Sharp might still be alive.’
Clora laughed. ‘Oh, chance would be a fine thing. I’d welcome him with open arms.’ She gave Slim a sly grin. ‘And not just arms. As would a few other people.’
‘I heard that he wasn’t all that well liked.’
‘Who told you that?’
Slim decided to keep his cards close for now, drawing out the information he sought one small piece at a time.
‘A couple of guys I met in the village. I didn’t take their names.’
‘Young?’
‘Uh, yeah.’
Clora rolled her eyes. ‘Kids growing up on rumours. There was all that business with his brother and young Col, but that was years ago. That was all Ozgood’s fault, anyway. He owns this place too,’ she added, flapping a hand around her. ‘Roof leaks. Tap in the bathroom trickles. How many times have I asked? He just sends old Croad around, who says he’ll get someone out. Den would have been straight over with a bag of spanners.’
‘I heard Ollie Ozgood provided Dennis with an alibi during the fire.’
Clora smiled. ‘Ah, so you have heard? You P.I.s, always fishing for gossip.’
Slim felt himself blushing. It had been an uncharacteristic slip, but one he might be able to turn to his advantage.
‘You g
ot me,’ he said. ‘Just like the TV shows. I heard two kids died, the fire caused by faulty wiring. Also that Den was nearby, yet heard nothing. Ollie Ozgood claimed to have seen him, which was used as an alibi.’
Clora nodded. ‘That’s about as much as anyone knows.’
‘Did you ever ask Den about it?’
‘Yeah. He didn’t like talking about it. Said it played out as the court heard. He wasn’t close to Steve, but there was guilt there. You could see it. First time I asked him he stormed out. Didn’t see him for a couple of weeks.’
‘They weren’t close in age, were they?’
Clora shook her head. ‘Twenty odd years. Den had moved out before Steve came along.’
‘I gather they had different fathers?’
Clora laughed. ‘Safe to assume. Den told me once his mother had been a flower child in the sixties, all drugs and hippyish and that. Got knocked up at fifteen. Den never met his dad, just knew his name. It was just the two of them, until his mother started seeing Steve’s dad. He didn’t get on with Den, so Den moved out, started using his real dad’s surname just to spite her. Next thing you know, she’s pregnant by her new guy. I think Den felt she was replacing him.’
‘Sounds like they had a complex relationship.’
‘Oh, for sure. They were so close, but she was a bit of a loose cannon, you know what I mean? Unpredictable. No real surprise what happened to her. Steve was a tipping point, but that pushed her back to Den. Then, when he died, she fell over the edge. Have you seen her up there, camped over his grave?’
Slim nodded. ‘I was introduced. It didn’t go down well.’
‘Her mind was fried long ago. A miracle her circuits held together so long.’
‘What happened to Steve’s dad?’
‘Oh, Den told me he bailed a couple of years before the fire. Him and her had a rough ride, so it was no surprise.’
Slim nodded slowly. ‘It’s a bit of a mess, really. So, tell me, what’s your opinion on it all? About the kids, Den, and Ollie Ozgood providing an alibi?’