Gatecrasher (6 page)

Aside from his imposing physique he had a soft face, pale blue eyes and sandy hair which was kept short, but not so short that it didn’t need the attention of a comb each morning. He had a small tidy beard, was well groomed and never, ever wore anything other than jeans, except to funerals or court.

He had been married for nearly twenty years to a loving wife who made every effort to steer their children away from the same path their father had taken. Something that he himself actively approved of.

He was solid, dependable, loyal and occasionally very considerate. Which was why George Gresham liked him so much and why he was
Gresham
’s number two. He was also a vicious, merciless individual when called upon and was responsible for a number of unsolved murders in parts of east
London
.

Another reason
Gresham
liked him.

The two of them strolled together through a small park near
Gresham
’s home sipping take-away coffee from a local café. Neither man was smiling.

‘Nothing. Fuck all. We never had too much time of course. That time of the morning,
we had to get in and out quick,
’ Slater told his boss.

Gresham
nodded. ‘Fair enough. Not the ideal time to go kicking someone’s door in really. Long as none of the neighbours clocked anything.’

‘Nah. Its all fucking bankers and their secretary girlfriends in Fulham boss and all wedged safely onto a tube or an office by that time.  Anyway, we found sod all. There was blood on the wall where Keano says he did him, Jools saw some blood on the steps by the back door, he thinks. But frankly it could have been anything if you ask me. Nothing inside.’

‘It wasn’t an empty flat was it though Keith? I mean someone lived there?’

‘Oh yeah. Jools had the DVD player away
–
make it look kosher. But no sign of what we were looking for.’

‘And you were thorough?’

‘Like I said, much as we could be.’

‘Fuck. Which means ‘Not really George.’ Was there an alley onto the street? A way past the house?’

Slater shook his head. ‘No. Terraced houses. Just the back of the house and the neighbours gardens either side.’

Gresham
looked his subordinate in the eye. ‘He went in that house Slater. He knocked on the door and went right in that house. Whoever lives there knows something that we don’t. And right now I’m not very comfortable with other people knowing more than me about my business.’ Slater was nodding as his boss spoke. ‘Keith, I think I’d like to have a few words with whoever it is lives there. I wonder if you’d arrange something?’

Slater’s smile almost scared
Gresham
.

Monday 11am

After the initial shock and the effort to keep his composure in front of the policemen
Campbell
had walked through the flat, stepping over the mess, checking each room carefully before pointing dumbly to the large dust-free pa
tch on the TV unit where his DVD
player used to be.

‘Mmn. Well sometimes they just grab what’s easiest to carry off. No cash taken? Jewellery?’ said DC Samuel.

Campbell
shook his head. The policeman was not being condescending at all but he still felt like a child who’d lost a favourite toy getting a sympathetic word from an adult. ‘
Don’t keep cash about the place,
’ he said and tapped his trouser pocket.  ‘Wallet.’

Making their way to the kitchen
Campbell
filled the kettle and pulled three mugs from the drainage board and dropped teabags into them. Scott asked
Campbell
if the man had been seen anywhere else that night. He shrugged as he struggled to remember.

‘Like I said, just in here. I mean, someone said they saw him in here when they came to get a drink but not everybody knew each other. They paid him no attention. Th
en we heard the noise. You know..
.’ He winced involuntarily as he heard it again, all too clear in his mind.

‘Mm-hm. And no-one remembers letting him in then?’ Scott asked.

Campbell
shook his head silently.

‘So I guess he might have come in this way?’ the policeman went on, pointing at the door at the end of the kitchen that led to the garden.

‘I guess.’ he replied but he was distracted. ‘Look, you don’t think this has anything to do with…’ he said and gestured with a slight nod at the mess of the break in.

Scott deferred to the senior man who paused for a moment and then shook his head. ‘Bad coincidence I’d say on the face of it. They took the DVD, made a big bloody mess looking for cash, or just for a laugh. It happens. But a gatecrasher on Saturday night at your party has an accident and then you get burgled Monday morning during work hours? I think it’s a long shot Mr Campbell. I wouldn’t go looking for any conspiracy theories. I’d say you’d had enough worries to be going on with without creating all new ones. Now, mind if we have a peek at the garden?’

Soon afterward they had found a wallet; thirty pounds in tens, a Blockbuster card, various receipts, a ticket stub from the
Chelsea
match the Saturday just gone. And a driving licence. It had been in the bushes at the rear of the garden, up against the wall, hidden until a policeman’s toecap had nudged the foliage aside in an almost token gesture at searching.

DC Samuel peered at the document as if it were some rare and ancient artefact. ‘Anthony Cooper.’ he read the name, enunciating carefully as if this was significant and Campbell looked from one policeman to the other trying to figure out if he ought to know who Anthony Cooper was.

Campbell
had felt slightly panicked at the appearance of the wallet, suddenly fearing the focus of suspicion falling again on him but soon reason returned and was confirmed by the idle musing of the policemen.

‘Drunk
Chelsea
fan hears party, climbs over wall, drops wallet in garden and can’t find it in the dark...’ Samuel had a distant look on his face like he was picturing it all.

‘Or is too pissed to find it.’ offered Scott.

‘Mmm. Gives up looking, gets cold, gatecrashes party.’ finished Samuel.

‘…nicks more booze in kitchen, falls down drunk and gets a wine glass in the neck for his trouble.’ Scott went on but quickly stopped himself when he saw
Campbell
wince once more.

‘Mr Campbell, what happened here on Saturday was probably just a terrible accident and I am sorry you were involved. We had to come and have a look around as you can appreciate; someone has died.’ DC Samuel spoke the words softly. ‘But on the face of it…’ the policeman shrugged. ‘Accidents like this happen you know. I’ve seen plenty stranger than this. Plenty. Take comfort from the fact that you did all you could.’

Campbell
felt the surprise before the reassurance. He wasn’t expecting that. No hard questions? No cuffs? He smiled philosophically and nodded. ‘I suppose so. What about this lot?’

‘You could come down the station, report it, make a formal report. We’d get the burglary looked into, you’d eventually get a crime number to give to the insurance company… ’ He glanced knowingly at Constable Scott. ‘Or you could just buy yourself a new DVD player and a burglar alarm.’

Monday
.
2pm
.

‘Drennan.’

Michael Tyler looked up from his newspaper and put down his coffee mug as he watched Drennan nod, grunt and curse responses into his phone.

He finished the conversation and ended the call before looking up a number from the contact list in his computer. He punched the number into the phone and plucked the receiver from the cradle.

‘It’s me. No sign of anything inside the place sir but they found blood in the garden and on the wall. Looks like he jumped over and maybe cut through to the other street or jumped into another garden… no sir, still no sign… of course, as soon as I get anything… I do have people in the Met I could try if you like but personally I think that we might be putting our head above the parapet a little if we went to them yet and discretion is the key… yes… yes… I will sir. Goodbye.’

Tyler
didn’t speak but his expression asked all the questions.

‘They said there was nothing in the flat but that there was blood on the door handle. Probably tried to get in but found it locked. They gave it a good going over but it was this morning and they didn’t want to hang around in there too long. Looks as if we still have a loose end.’

Tyler
span his own chair and started clicking through different applications on the PC on his own desk and began making calls. He passed a list of numbers to Drennan that had churned out of the printer and the two of them spent half an hour dialling numbers and chattering politely to a succession of people, some of whom they knew, some they didn’t.

Drennan let the receiver drop before he finished dialling the next number when he saw
Tyler
concluding a conversation with a smile. He sat expectantly as
Tyler
repeated his thanks several times and then put the phone down looking pleased with himself.

‘Just got
someone in the Charing Cross A and
E who let slip that they had someone come in Saturday night with a serious neck wound.’

‘That’s our Tony. What’s that, a mile or two from Fulham?’

Tyler
nodded. ‘Got to be him. She said they had no idea who he was because he had no ID on him and he didn’t regain consciousness.’
Tyler
paused then. ‘Died on Sunday.’

Drennan smiled a ghoulish smile that suddenly made
Tyler
feel uneasy, not just because of the coldness that it displayed but because he noticed that he was doing the same.

‘So no loose end then.’ Drennan said. ‘All done. He vanishes and nobody knows how or why. No trail.’

Tyler
hesitated and Drennan’s smile sagged on his face. ‘She said something that didn’t sound great.’

‘Well go on then for fuck’s sake, tell me.’ Drennan snapped when
Tyler
left a pause.

‘She said “and the man that brought him in said he didn’t know him either.”’
Tyler
said and let the words hang there for a moment. ‘So a new loose end I’d say. Some Good Samaritan helped take him in. Not that it did Tony any good.’

‘Or our Samaritan.’ said Drennan, his eyes looking hard as he turned back to his co
mputer. ‘Who’d cover that then…
ah,yes.’ he said and dialled another number.

Monday
.
4pm
.

Campbell
looked at his watch and noted with dismay that there was still at least an hour before he could get out of the office.

Not that he’d really done anything of note so far. He had been there for just two hours. Having set about tidying up his flat for a second time in as many days it had taken the best part of two hours and another hour to get in to work.

Since arriving his time had been spent talking with colleagues about the weekend and the subsequent burglary, staring blankly at his screen, reading through various articles and reports without taking in a single thing and emailing his friends about his awful last few days.

The hangover that had dogged him throughout Sunday had still not cleared entirely and he had been unable to sleep properly worrying about the implications of the death of his gatecrasher.

He had trawled through various news sites on the internet but had found nothing about the incident; not that he’d expected to but it killed half an hour so the effort was not a total waste. He had emailed some of his friends about the party but none of them had seen anything more than he had and most just wanted to know what had happened and Campbell found their curiosity morbid and unsettling and gave only brief responses to their breathless enquiries. It kept his mood low and ensured that his mind kept returning to the sketchy memories of that night.

Volunteering to make drinks for his colleagues
Campbell
returned to his desk and resolved to get some work done for the remainder of the day before somebody said something to him about his lack of productivity. He would knuckle down and the time would pass quicker and then he could get out of here.

But in an hour
Campbell
was back into the same rut that he’d been stuck in only now the tiredness was much worse and his eyes felt as sore as his head. His mind was wandering again, turning back to the slideshow of memories of the party, his stomach turning as he remembered the drinking.