The Crooked Beat (24 page)

‘What’s my dad doing in my house?’ she said, her voice low.

‘I asked him to.’ The line went quiet and I listened as she walked through her house. I heard a door being opened. I could picture her standing in the back garden.

‘You asked him to?’ she said.

I took a breath. ‘I’m getting on a ferry tomorrow night with Sutherland.’

‘Why?’

‘We’re bringing some replacement cigarettes back with us.’

‘Are you mad?’

‘It’s the only way of getting him off my family’s back.’

‘Are you out of your mind, Joe?’

I assured her I wasn’t. ‘I’m doing it so Connor doesn’t have to.’

She went silent. I knew I was right. There was no other way unless I could come up with a plan. Sarah eventually broke the silence. ‘It’s still wrong.’

‘It’s got to be put right.’ I told her it wasn’t even the worst of it. ‘I visited Dave Johnson today.’

I heard her draw breath. ‘You went to the prison?’

‘Coleman took me.’

‘Why would you want to speak to him?’

‘He knows about Andrew Bancroft.’ I repeated what Alan Palmer had told me. ‘Sutherland was involved.’

‘Isn’t that enough to have him arrested?’

I found myself shaking my head. ‘There’s not enough there yet.’ I told Sarah I had to go and finished the call. I turned to the envelope Coleman had given me and looked again at the photographs of the murder scene. It was getting late, but I decided to call Roger Millfield. There was no answer. I left him a message, saying we needed to talk about Andrew Bancroft. I knew what had happened to him. I needed him to put George Sutherland in the frame for Bancroft’s murder. Otherwise, I was getting on a ferry tomorrow night. Going back to Millfield was the only option I had left. He was my last roll of the dice. I put my mobile down and made myself comfortable. I switched the radio off and closed my eyes.

The boxing hall was full of people talking and laughing. Don Ridley made his way back from the toilet and sat down at the table. The lights went down and two young boxers stepped into the ring. In one corner, the taller boxer stood in red shorts, the shorter man in the other wearing blue. Two young women in tight T-shirts and shorts circled the canvas with numbered boards held above their heads to signal the first round. The crowd roared their approval. The boxer in red took control of the fight, working his opponent into a corner with a succession of quick and accurate jabs. Ridley’s seat was close enough to hear each blow land. The youngster in blue was showing enough courage to stay in the fight as the bell went to signal the end of the round. Ridley watched as the man sitting next to Holborn collected their empty glasses and made for the bar.

Ridley moved quickly across into the empty seat. ‘Bet you didn’t expect me to be here tonight?’

Holborn smiled, clearly pissed. ‘Not really, Don.’ He leaned in so he could be heard above the crowd. ‘People enjoy my company. I’m a people person. You, on the other hand, are known for being a bit of a cunt.’

Ridley smiled. ‘An honest cunt, maybe.’

‘Truth be told, I won’t miss you all that much.’

‘Looking forward to a long and prosperous retirement?’

‘Too fucking right I am.’

‘You won’t be looking over your shoulder at all?’

‘I sleep like a baby.’

The bell sounded the start of the second round.

‘No regrets?’ Ridley asked.

Holborn shook his head. ‘Not a single one.’ A pint of lager was placed in front of him. Ridley ignored the man standing over his shoulder. He wasn’t ready to move yet.

‘You must have regrets, though, Don? Loads of them, I should think.’

‘Just the one, really.’

Holborn lit a cigar and inhaled deeply. ‘You shouldn’t live that way, Don. No regrets. That’s the only way to do it. I’m retiring as a DCI. You’ll never hit the same heights.’

Ridley concentrated on the boxing. The boxer in red shorts carried on where he’d left off in the first round. He had his opponent in the corner and was peppering him with vicious blows to the head and the body. The crowd roared him on.

Holborn leaned in to speak to Ridley. ‘You can go on about teamwork as much as like, and all that noble bullshit about a higher calling when you join up, but you have to make it happen for yourself. That’s the bottom line.’

‘At any cost?’

Holborn picked up his drink. ‘At any fucking cost.’

‘I’m surprised you didn’t invite Frank Salford along tonight.’

Holborn offered a toast. ‘You always had a sense of humour, Don. I’ll give you that much.’

‘I’ll find him, you know.’

‘Find who?’

‘Andrew Bancroft.’

A roar from the crowd went up. Both men turned their attention back to the ring. Another powerful right hook from the fighter in red and it was all over. The referee stood over the boxer in blue and counted to ten before moving to the red corner and holding the boxer’s arm in aloft. Holborn stood and led the applause.

Ridley waited for him to sit back down and repeated that he’d find Andrew Bancroft. ‘I know Frank Salford had him killed, so that means you knew about it as well.’

Holborn drank a mouthful of lager before putting his glass down. ‘You always get winners and losers in life, don’t you? People like me and Frank are the winners. Now, if you don’t mind, Don, do me a favour and fuck off.’

My sleep was broken by the ringtone of my mobile. I fumbled around, finding it underneath a cushion. It was Coleman calling.

I sat up and answered. ‘Bit early, isn’t it?’

‘Where are you?’

‘Home.’

‘You might want to get yourself to Roger Millfield’s office.’ It went quiet as he spoke to whoever was standing alongside him. I waited for him to return. ‘Sorry about that,’ he said when came back on the line. ‘There’s no easy way of saying this, Joe. Millfield’s killed himself.’

Coleman finished the call, saying he had to go. I sat in shock on my settee for a moment. My head was filled with questions, but I had to focus. I needed to get myself into the city centre as soon as possible. It was only as I was about to leave that the thought struck me. I’d left Roger Millfield a message late last night, telling him I knew all about Andrew Bancroft’s murder. I was to blame.

I joined the steady stream of cars and buses ferrying workers into the city centre. It was a slow drive down Princes Avenue and Spring Bank. Once I was in the city centre loop, I headed straight to Millfield’s office on High Street. From the outside, there was no sign of activity. I called Coleman. He answered and told me to wait where I was. He eventually appeared and said we should go somewhere else to talk. He suggested the cafe in Hepworth Arcade on the other side of Lowgate.

The place was empty other than an old man in the far corner with a pot of tea. Coleman ordered two coffees and two bacon sandwiches.

‘You can’t have eaten, the time it took you to get here,’ he said.

He wasn’t wrong, but I had questions to ask first. Coleman explained that they’d received a call and he’d been alerted to it by someone at the station. I watched as he bit into his sandwich. I pushed mine away and wondered if I’d ever grow as immune to death as he had. I asked who’d found Millfield.

‘The receptionist. She comes in early to open up and sort things out. She saw the light in his office was on and went in to ask if he wanted a coffee.’

‘Poor woman.’

Coleman agreed with me.

‘Did he leave a note?’ I asked.

‘I’m told there was one, but I haven’t seen it.’ Coleman pointed to my bacon sandwich. ‘Don’t you want that?’

I pushed the plate towards him. ‘Go for it.’

He did, wiping away the grease from the side of his mouth.

‘I left Millfield a message last night,’ I said.

Coleman put what remained of the sandwich down. ‘Why?’

‘I wanted to speak to him about Andrew Bancroft.’ I’d probably never know why Millfield had been forced to witness his death, or what he knew. It didn’t feel so important now.

I watched as Coleman processed what I’d told him. He shook his head. ‘You can’t blame yourself.’

‘Easier said than done.’ I picked up my coffee and thought about the contents of the letter. I wondered if it mentioned his daughter. Or more accurately, Don’s daughter.

Coleman leaned in closer to me, not that anyone was listening. ‘He got involved in something way over his head. This thing goes back years. It was bound to be a difficult load for him to carry.’

But he’d done it when I’d been pushing him. I’d been willing to use him to get George Sutherland off my back. What made me think he would have been willing to help me? I’d asked him to open himself up to a world of trouble. My problems had blinkered me to the difficulties he had been facing. But another piece of the puzzle clicked into place. I suspected Roger Millfield hadn’t been truthful when he’d hired me. It wasn’t his wife’s potential affair he was bothered about. He was worried about himself and what might come out and damage his own reputation.

Coleman finished the sandwich and wiped his hands on a serviette. ‘So what do you know?’

‘Nothing I can prove.’

‘Still got your problem with Sutherland?’

‘Without doubt.’

‘Want to share?’

‘Not at the moment.’

Coleman picked up his coffee and shrugged. ‘Your call.’

We both knew something had changed, that there had been a shift. A man had died. A man with a family, however fragmented it appeared to be. I watched as Coleman took an envelope out of his pocket. He held it out to me.

‘What is it?’ I asked.

‘One of Holborn’s neighbours reckoned she saw a man hanging around the area just before the fire.’

I looked at the e-fit. It could be any number of men, but one name immediately came to mind.

‘Recognise him?’ Coleman asked me. ‘I could have a good guess who it is.’

‘Same here.’

Coleman nodded. ‘The old guy’s back from his holiday. Only just got in touch.’

I put it in my pocket. ‘Why are you doing this?’

‘Seems like we both need a result.’ He put his mug down. ‘And I can’t be the one asking the questions.’

I put the envelope into my pocket, understanding the point he was making.

I left the cafe and walked back to Millfield’s office. A handful of people were standing around outside. I assumed they were employees. Some of them were smoking, some were talking on their mobiles. I was on the opposite side of the road to them. I had no business being with them. I was about to leave when Neil Farr escorted Kath Millfield out of the front door. He stopped when he saw me. He said something to her and walked across to me, pointing. ‘I thought you’d have the decency to stay away.’

I was about to say something, but he cut me off.

‘I want you to leave Kath alone. Whatever you know means nothing now. Is that clear? It means nothing. The past stays in the past. Leave Kath and Rebecca alone.’ His arm dropped as the anger left him.

I stared at Don’s name in my mobile, trying to decide whether I should call him or not. How big a coward was I? I knew what I had to do. I pushed the button and called. He had a right to know about Roger Millfield’s death. The media would pick the story up soon enough and it wouldn’t be right if he heard about it that way. He didn’t answer, so I left a message saying he should call me as soon as possible, that it was urgent.

I flicked through to Sarah’s number. She answered and was shocked when I told her the news. ‘Coleman called me first thing,’ I said.

‘Have you spoken to his family?’

I glanced at Millfield’s office and told her I hadn’t. Neil Farr had made his feelings very clear to me. I knew I had to be careful what I told her. I was feeling guilty about pushing Roger Millfield in respect of his involvement with George Sutherland, but long-hidden secrets about his family life were pushing their way to the surface and it was Sarah who was in the firing line. As I put my mobile away, I knew I’d avoided the real issue. I hadn’t told her about her half-sister.

I drove east to the house of Reg Holborn’s neighbour. Her front door was open before I’d finished locking my car. I walked down the drive to her. ‘Can I trouble you for a word?’

She said she’d put the kettle on. I sat down in her living room. It was as neat and tidy as I expected it to be. Family photographs on the wall, a pile of weekly magazines next to a reading chair.

I accepted the mug of coffee and waited for her to sit down before getting straight to the point. The clock was ticking. ‘I understand one of your neighbours noticed a man hanging around the area before the fire.’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘How would you know that? You said you’re a Private Investigator, Not a police officer.’

I told her she was correct. ‘I’ve spoken to Acting Detective Inspector Coleman.’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t know the name.’

‘We’ve been dealing with Reg’s son.’ It wasn’t a lie, though I hoped she wouldn’t be speaking to him in the near future. I told her to call Coleman if she had any concerns.

She let it go. ‘You think this man might be responsible for the fire?’

I let her question hang there. She’d told me that Reg Holborn wasn’t a smoker. She already had her own doubts about the situation.

She stood up. ‘I best take you to see Harry, then.’

‘You must be Jimmy’s lad, then?’ Harry said to me.

‘That’s right.’

He leaned forward. ‘I remember your old man well. I was regular in his pub. I used to love a drink and a natter in the place.’ He smiled. ‘Your dad was a good bloke. Decent rugby player, too.’

I told him about the display we’d made in Niall’s bar from his shirts.