Out of the Night (4 page)

B
ill Peart turned up again first thing the next morning. This time he came in a big posh Volvo 4 x 4 with yellow and black zig-zag patterns all over it. I went out to meet him.

I inspected the vehicle.

‘What do you think?’ he said.

‘Nice.’

He nodded. ‘We could do with a few more of these.’

‘Pity about the colour scheme.’

He scowled and followed me inside.

‘Coffee?’

‘Yeah.’

I put the kettle on once again. My main task in life these days, it seemed.

‘The chief says he’s trying to get more,’ Bill chuntered on, ‘but every time he asks, the chairman of the Police Authority reminds him how much they cost. Mind you, he also says cracking this case could be worth a couple more of them.’

‘So there’s your incentive.’ I grinned. ‘How are you getting on with it?’

‘Not great.’

That’s what I had assumed. He wouldn’t have come to see me again so soon if everything had been going splendidly.

He peered at my face. ‘What the hell happened to you?’

‘This?’ I fingered my bruises and abrasions. ‘A stone wall hit me.’

He shook his head in disbelief. ‘It did a good job. Maybe you’re not cut out for work as a private eye?’

‘Thanks, Bill. So what have you got on the bodies?’

‘Forensics have come up with some info in the path lab.’

‘And?’

‘Two female bodies. One male.’

‘Well done, them!’

He ignored my sarcasm, probably because he was used to it.

‘Ages range between twenty-five and thirty-three. They also say they’re all foreign.’

‘Ethnic descent, you mean, or…?’

He shook his head. ‘Foreign. They didn’t grow up here. The male is, or was, Chinese. The females are both from somewhere in Eastern Europe. Ukraine or Poland, probably.’

‘How can they tell?’

‘Something to do with chemicals in the body. You grow up on Teesside, you’ll have bits of steel and slag in your DNA, I expect. Grow up in China, and you have rice grains, and whatnot.’

I shook my head. ‘That right?’

‘Something like that. You’ll have to ask the boffins, if you want to know more.’

‘Boffins, eh? You still have them?’

‘More than ever. What we really need, though, is more boots on the ground.’ He inspected his mug and added, ‘Good coffee, this.’

‘Thanks. It’s good to know I can do something right in your book.’

‘Tch, tch! Such sensitivity.’

I thought about what Bill had just said. So they were truly exotic bodies. Not what you would normally expect to find on the beach in Port Holland. Mind you, the world is on the move as never before. Plane loads of Africans arriving every day. Plane loads of Brits off to Oz and Spain. And that’s without even counting the people going on holiday. I bet if I asked him, Jimmy Mack would say it was madness. And I might even agree with him.

‘Could they have come off a ship?’ I asked. ‘Could forensics tell you that?’

‘Unlikely, I’m told. The bodies had been in the water a while. There were signs of damage from …’ He paused, looked up at me and winced, adding, ‘I don’t think I want to go fishing anywhere near Port Holland again for a while.’

‘But why not off a ship?’

‘That’s more to do with the coastguard than forensics. The currents in the area are all wrong, apparently. Bodies dumped offshore wouldn’t have come into Port Holland. They would have hit the beach a lot further south.’ He shrugged. ‘So they say anyway.’

Bill had been doing his homework. No wonder he looked even more shagged out than usual. Despite what he’d said for openers, he’d made a lot of progress in the past twenty-four hours. I was impressed. He had obviously persuaded various people to drop what they were doing and move this case to the top of their in-trays. Perhaps it was the lure of possible new Volvos that had done it.

‘So what’s your take on this now?’ I asked.

He shook his head. ‘Early days, Frank. Early days. I take it you know nothing more?’ he added hopefully.

‘Not a thing.’

Was that a lie? I wasn’t sure.

‘It’s probably either drugs trafficking or people trafficking,’ Bill added with a sigh. ‘That’s what I’m thinking. But we’ll have to be a lot further down the road before we can say for sure.’

‘Keep an open mind,’ I advised. ‘It doesn’t have to be either of those possibilities.’

He snorted and shoved his mug across for a refill. ‘OK, big detective. What else could it be?’

‘I don’t know. Arms trafficking?’

‘That’s a point. I hadn’t thought of that one.’ He frowned. ‘Catterick’s not far away, is it?’

It wasn’t. Catterick, in North Yorkshire. The army’s biggest base. It would be full of everything lethal you had ever heard of, and more besides.

‘There was a quartermaster type there that got done for flogging Nato rifles the other year, wasn’t there?’ I mused, ransacking my memory banks.

‘That’s right.’ Bill frowned. ‘You’ve got me really worried now. I’d better have a word with my new North Yorkshire colleagues.’

He didn’t add anything, and I wasn’t particularly interested in pursuing the subject. It was all speculation anyway. He got up to go.

‘Now you’ve warmed your bones and drunk all my coffee, you’re hitting the road, eh?’

‘That’s it.’ Before he left he added, ‘On reflection, it’s probably drugs. I’d put my money on it.’

Maybe, I thought as I watched his big machine drive away. The girl hadn’t seemed like a drug addict, but you didn’t have to be one to be involved in the transportation of drugs. All you had to be was greedy, or in fear of somebody. I didn’t know if she was greedy or not, but the girl had certainly been terrified and desperate. That seemed a good enough qualification to me.

There remained the possibility that she had been a trafficked person, or involved in smuggling F16s or Chieftain tanks – or even not involved in events at Port Holland at all, of course. There was always that possibility, too.

But my money was on her being involved. Somehow. I was sure of it. Otherwise, we were looking at a hell of a big coincidence.

J
ust before lunch I set off for Middlesbrough. I was meeting a potential client, a Jack Picknett, who wanted me to check out his place of business. He was worried about security, apparently. So his secretary said. We were meeting in a country pub in Marton, just outside what some people used to call ‘Steel City’, before they stopped making the stuff there.

I arrived in the car park and sat for a few moments. I was early. So I had time to think some more about my mysterious visitor back at Risky Point, which I would have preferred not to do. She was taking over my life.

Once again, though, I got no further. I knew no more about her now than I had that first night, apart from the fact that people were looking for her. That seemed to suggest she might still be around. So when I got home I would carry on looking for her as well, just in case she hadn’t got clean away. I was still worried she was supposed to be a fourth headless body.

I was meeting my potential client in the restaurant. I can’t say I was particularly hungry or looking forward to a posh meal. I wasn’t in the mood. But sometimes you can’t afford to
turn down an offer you wouldn’t have made yourself. It doesn’t hurt to be gracious occasionally.

I asked for the table booked in the name of ‘Picknett’, adding that I was a little early. The waitress took me straight to a table by a window overlooking an immaculate lawn that was occupied by a variety of bird life. The feeders dotted around indicated that the birds were part of the regular entertainment. That was OK by me. I quite liked looking at birds that for once were not seagulls.

The waitress went off to fetch me a glass of orange juice while I waited. I wouldn’t have minded a beer, but first impressions can count for a lot when you’re meeting a prospective new client. I wanted to learn more about the job before I risked blowing it.

‘Mr Doy?’

I turned and looked up at a tall woman somewhere in her early thirties with long blonde hair who was towering over me.

‘Yes?’

‘Thank you for coming. I’m Ms Picknett.’

I stood up. We shook hands. Then she moved round the table to sit down opposite me, giving me time to adjust.

‘Anything wrong?’ she asked, picking up on my confusion.

‘No, not a thing. It’s very pleasant here. Jack?’ I added.

‘Without the “k”.’

‘Jac?’

‘That’s it.’

I chuckled and shook my head, trying hard to rid myself of the image of ‘Jack Picknett’ I had conjured up in advance: a fat, balding, middle-aged, businessman.

‘It sounds much the same.’

She smiled and nodded agreement.

‘Your secretary could have warned me.’

‘She likes to have her little joke.’

The waitress returned with my orange juice. Jac frowned at it and invited me to share a carafe of white wine with her. How could I refuse?

‘Did my secretary say anything about what I wanted?’ she asked, getting down to business.

‘Not really. It was just a brief conversation. She said you would like to meet me to discuss security in your business premises.’

Jac nodded. ‘That’s right. I own an art gallery in town. It’s not exactly a salubrious area and I’m concerned about security. I would like you to check the place over and give me your advice, and an estimate of costs for an upgrade.’

Fair enough. I was a little surprised that she hadn’t gone straight to one of the big security companies, or approached the issue in collaboration with her insurer, but cost might be an issue. Perhaps she couldn’t afford a Rolls-Royce solution.

‘I take it you’re in the area designated for regeneration?’ I said.

‘Yes, that’s right.’ She smiled and added, ‘You’re probably thinking it’s likely to be an uphill challenge, which it is, of course, but Middlesbrough needs businesses like mine. We hope to make a difference.’

My turn to nod. I couldn’t disagree with any of that. I felt like wishing her luck.

‘So how did you hear about me? I don’t advertise my services.’

‘I know Lydia. We’re old friends.’

Ah! My artist ex-girlfriend. At least, I assumed she was ex. We certainly hadn’t seen each other for a long while.

Jac added, ‘Lydia says you’re a good man. A conventional attitude towards art, but reliable and good at what you do.’

I arched my eyebrows. ‘Lydia said all that? What a cheek!’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t worry about it,’ Jac said. ‘I’m a traditionalist myself when it comes to art. I like to see paint on canvas, and canvas on a wall. Lydia is different, isn’t she?’

I grinned. I was beginning to like Jac Picknett.

‘She calls it Performance Art.’

‘Yes, I know she does. That’s what it is.’

Whatever the official term for it, Lydia didn’t need security alarms. The challenge lay in persuading anybody to stop and watch.

‘Are we going to be able to do business together, do you think?’ Jac asked, giving me an arch smile.

‘Oh, yes,’ I assured her. ‘I’m sure we are.’

Contrary to my expectations in advance, we had a pleasant lunch. Making it even better, Jac declined my offer to pay. We discussed her security requirements and arranged for me to pay her a visit at the gallery in a few days’ time. Then we parted with a handshake and a chuckle, having got on very well together.

My good mood changed abruptly when I arrived back at Risky Point to find someone had smashed the front door open. Inside, the place was a mess. Furniture overturned, cupboards emptied, broken crockery and glass all over the
place. Whoever had done it had gone through the entire house like a hurricane.

My mood swung from shock to anger, and then rage. Bastards! I wasn’t in any doubt who was responsible. They had come back. I should have anticipated it.

I wondered if Jimmy had seen or heard anything. He should have done. Middle of the day? He couldn’t have missed them.

Then I began to worry. I left the house and raced over to Jimmy’s place.

The front door to his cottage must have been open. They hadn’t had to smash their way through that. I went inside and saw they had saved their energy for the work ahead of them. Jimmy’s place was as big a mess as mine.

Jimmy himself was on the floor in the living room. For a dreadful moment I thought the worst. Then he moved. He raised an arm. I rushed over to him.

‘I’m all right,’ he whispered.

‘Sure you are.’

But he wasn’t. His face was a mess and he wasn’t moving much. He’d taken a pummelling.

‘The same people?’ I asked.

‘The same.’

I took out my mobile and called for an emergency ambulance. Fifteen minutes, they said. I told them to try to make it faster than that.

Then I questioned Jimmy about his injuries and examined him gently, but I didn’t move him or offer him painkillers. I just laid a blanket over him to try to keep him warm. It was hard to be sure but I suspected fractured ribs
and an arm, as well as concussion. My biggest worry was internal damage.

I fretted while we waited. He needed to be in hospital. All I could safely do was try to keep him warm and keep him company until help arrived. I’ve rarely felt so useless and impotent.

The paramedics came, thank God, and did their first-responder stuff before taking Jimmy away. One of them kept up a cheerful banter to make sure he stayed conscious but none of them had much to say to me. I didn’t press them with questions or interfere in any other way. They had enough to do. The last thing I wanted was to distract them.

Before they loaded Jimmy into the ambulance he rallied and indicated he wanted to speak to me. I leaned down to him.

‘I told them nothing, Frank,’ he whispered. ‘They still haven’t got her.’

‘OK, Jimmy. Thanks.’

I winked, gripped his hand for a moment and then stepped back. I just wished he had known something worthwhile to tell them. He might have been spared a beating then. Probably not, though.

I
had two new pressing problems now, in addition to the ones I had started off with. I had two houses to clear up, and I had to decide how I was going to tell Bill Peart what had happened. I was more worried about the latter.

I knew I would have to tell him. Burglary or breaking-and-entry, whatever you wanted to call it, was one thing. The assault on Jimmy Mack was in a different category altogether. If they had worked me over, I might have put up with it and gone looking for them in my own time. But the business with Jimmy was a different matter. The hospital authorities would have reported that to the police. There was no way it could be kept quiet.

While I was still mulling things over, I saw a police Volvo 4 x 4 turn off the road onto our track. Long before I could positively identify the driver I knew one of my minor problems had disappeared. I didn’t have to worry any more about how to actually contact Bill Peart.

I shut the door to Jimmy’s cottage and began to walk back to mine. By the time I got there, Bill had parked and got out. He stood looking at my front door. Then he turned and stared at me.

‘What you been up to, Frankie boy?’

‘Come on inside, Bill. It’s too bloody cold out here. You can help me clear up.’

He followed me inside and whistled when he saw the state of the place. Then he got on his radio and called up some help. I was too weary and dispirited even to think of trying to stop him.

I started turning things the right way up but Bill stopped me. ‘Leave it!’ he said sharply. ‘Leave it for forensics. Come on. I’ll buy you a pint down the road. We’ll just sit in the vehicle while we wait for my lads to arrive.’

I wasn’t keen on the suggestion. This was my home he was talking about handing over to strangers. On the other hand, I wasn’t feeling up to doing much myself, and I would just be in the way of the forensics people. Besides, I couldn’t stop them going through Jimmy’s place, whatever happened here. So I let it happen.

‘The lads are very good,’ Bill said reassuringly as we trooped out to his Volvo. ‘They’ll respect the place and be careful. They know you’re a mate.’

I smiled ruefully and rallied. ‘You don’t want to be thought a mate of mine, Bill. You might get beaten up and your front door smashed in. Anyway, how did you manage to get here so fast?’

‘I was in Port Holland and I heard some chatter on the radio. When Risky Point was mentioned I thought I’d better get over here.’

‘Port Holland again?’

‘Again. No more bodies, though.’

‘Thank God for that!’

He had dispelled my immediate fear. No more bodies. That meant they still hadn’t found her.

The Smugglers
, four miles down the road, wasn’t a bad pub. In fact, it was very pleasant. Not that I was in the mood for frivolities. We sat in a corner of the very quiet bar and Bill bought a couple of pints.

‘So what’s going on?’ he asked.

‘Fucked if I know.’

‘No idea?’

I sighed wearily and made a start.

‘When I came home the other day I found two guys trying to break into my house. I stopped them. Things got a bit out of hand but Jimmy came to the rescue with his shotgun.’

‘His legally held shotgun?’

‘Of course.’

I certainly hoped it was.

‘And it was them again?’

‘So Jimmy said.’

‘Boy!’ Bill sighed and swigged his beer. ‘Didn’t even think of me? Sometimes I don’t know why I bother calling you a pal.’

‘You were busy with bodies on the beach,’ I protested. ‘You had enough to do.’

‘There’s a whole police force behind me.’ He held his beer up to the light and squinted at it before adding, ‘Maybe two, if it’s serious enough.’

‘I thought I could handle it. I thought I had handled it.’

‘Yeah. You did. Terrific.’

‘What’s wrong with your beer? Got floaters in it?’

‘Real ale, eh?’ he said, putting his glass down.

‘What’s wrong with that? Anyway, I’m hungry. Do they have any crisps at the bar?’

He just looked at me. Then he carried on with what he wanted to say.

‘Humour me,’ he said. ‘Forget I’m a cop. Just for the moment. These two tough guys? Any idea who they were?’

I shook my head. ‘I’d never seen them before.’

‘That’s not the same thing, is it?’

‘What do you want me to say, Bill? I have no more idea now than I had the other day, when they were trying to break into my house.’

He changed the subject. ‘Where have you been today?’

‘To see a client – a potential client. Business development.’

‘Connected with this?’

I shook my head. ‘She’s a friend of Lydia’s. She has an art gallery in Middlesbrough.’

‘She?’

‘Yes, she’s a she.’

‘Nice. And nothing to do with this?’

‘I’m going to see if they have any crisps. Another pint?’

He shook his head. ‘I’m on duty.’

They had only cheese and onion, which suited me well enough. I got a packet for Bill, too, hoping they wouldn’t interfere with his sense of duty.

When I got back to my seat, Bill said, ‘I wonder what those fellers were looking for. There must have been something, the way they turned everything over.’

‘Just intent on maximum damage, probably. They got the worst of it the other day. Besides, they must have realized quite quickly there was no hidden treasure at Risky Point.’

‘Really? Nothing else to help explain it?’

We seemed to have reached a crossroads. Either we continued down the road together or we went our separate ways. I didn’t struggle with that for long.

‘I might be able to help you a bit there,’ I said carefully. It seemed time to let him in on the secret. ‘They were searching for a woman. At least, I think they were.’

I didn’t like the way Bill looked at me then. It was with a mixture of fury and contempt.

‘Why ever would they look for a woman in your house?’

‘Well, it’s not what you think.’

‘It never is, where you’re concerned. Here I am, doing my best to try to help you, and—’

‘I know, I know!’ I said soothingly. ‘Let me explain.’

So I told him about my nocturnal visitor.

He shook his head afterwards. ‘It just gets worse,’ he said bitterly. ‘I’ve got this shitty case at Port Holland to deal with, a chief constable that wants me out of the way, and you want to complicate my life further by telling me—’

‘You did ask!’

‘Yeah. I did. You’re right. And now I wish I hadn’t.’

We talked a bit more. Bill calmed down and said he thought it was probably a coincidence, that there was no connection between my visitor and what had happened at Port Holland a few miles to the south. That’s what he said, at least. I didn’t argue, partly because I had no evidence to the contrary. All I had was a gut feeling. That was enough for me, but not for him.

‘We’ll see if we can find any prints,’ Bill said in conclusion. ‘See if your house was turned over by anyone we know. And
we’ll do the usual things. But my feeling is that they’re long gone, like the woman. They won’t any of them be back to Risky Point again.

‘Come on,’ he added. ‘Let’s get you back home. You’ve got a lot of clearing up to do.’

‘If you want to stay and help,’ I said hopefully, ‘there might be a fish supper in it for you?’

‘I’ve got a lot of work to do,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘And a home to go back to sometime.’

I could empathize with him on that. His home probably wasn’t all smashed up either.