The Crooked Beat (9 page)

It was only a short drive to Don’s house. It passed in silence, both of us trying to make sense of what Roger Millfield had said. It would have to wait for now. It was clear Don wasn’t as pleased to see me as he was Sarah. His appearance had improved a little. The bruising to his face was starting to come out a little more and his left eye had started to reopen. The mantelpiece had framed photographs of him on holiday with Sarah and Lauren. These were bookended with ones of Don with his wife. She’d died several years ago. I picked up the book he was reading. A Geoffrey Boycott biography. I smiled. Yorkshire to the core.

‘How’s the bowling going?’ I asked him.

‘It keeps me busy.’

‘Good.’ I’d been surprised to learn Don had taken up bowls in the local park, something to pass the time. Sarah had told me he was going to give it a go, but I hadn’t expected him to stick with it. He wasn’t the sort of person I imagined enjoying leisure activities.

Don spoke to Sarah. ‘Put the kettle on, please.’

I sat down opposite him and waited for her to leave the room before speaking. ‘We’ve spoken with Roger Millfield,’ I said.

‘Both of you?’

‘Sarah’s keen to help.’

He stared at me, like he wanted to say it wasn’t a good idea, but eventually let it go. ‘Did he have anything to say?’

‘He told me he longer required my services.’ Our eyes stayed on each other. He wasn’t giving anything away. ‘How come you’re working for Roger Millfield?’

‘He asked me to.’

‘I thought you’d retired?’

He shrugged. ‘We go way back.’

I wasn’t buying it. ‘You were attacked straight after getting involved.’

‘Don’t look for things that aren’t there, Joe.’

‘You must have enemies?’

‘None worth talking about.’

‘I’m not the only one concerned about you. I’ve been talking to Acting Detective Inspector Coleman.’

‘He had a word with me.’

‘Why would a man of that rank be interested? It doesn’t make sense.’

Don simply shrugged. ‘I’m one of them. It’s the way it works.’

‘He mentioned an ongoing investigation.’

‘I wouldn’t know. Only Coleman can tell you about that.’

Sarah walked into the room with our drinks. Don thanked her and said he had some washing he needed hanging out. I didn’t dare look at Sarah. She knew he was excluding her from our conversation.

I waited until I heard the back door open before speaking. ‘Why didn’t you tell me about your affair with Kath Millfield?’

He wasn’t surprised by the question. ‘How do you know?’

‘It’s not important.’ We sat in silence. I was waiting for him to speak.

He eventually sighed and spoke. ‘There are things you don’t need to know about me. Things Sarah certainly doesn’t need to know about me.’ He pointed at me. ‘And you’re going to keep them to yourself. Is that clear?’ He couldn’t look me in the eye. ‘I’m not proud of myself. My marriage wasn’t working back then. I was investigating some seriously sick people. I can’t begin to explain what a strain it puts on you. I’ve seen the dead bodies of sexually abused children, children who were nothing more than punch-bags for their short lives, knowing how miserable their short time here was. I’ve seen bodies burnt beyond all recognition. I’ve had to intrude on families of decent people who were murdered because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. It takes its toll on better people than me, I can tell you that much, and I’ve seen it all first-hand.’

‘It doesn’t excuse what you did.’

‘I’m not saying it does.’

‘How did you meet Kath Millfield?’

‘Through her husband. He helped us out at with some investigation or other. I got to know her socially and one thing led to another.’

‘One thing led to another?’ I repeated. ‘That’s all you’ve got to say?’

‘You leave the Millfields alone. I don’t want you bothering them. Am I clear?’ He sat back, his point made, and changed the subject. ‘Sarah tells me your brother is in trouble.’

I told him about the smuggled cigarettes, the words sounding no less ridiculous than the first time I’d said them.

‘Have you thought about going to the police?’

I smiled. Don knew I would have no intention of doing that. ‘It’s not on the agenda.’

‘I didn’t think it would be.’

‘Niall’s got a family to think about.’

He took the point. ‘Start at the beginning.’

I told Don the whole story. I told him the missing cigarettes belonged to George Sutherland.

Don nodded. ‘I know the name.’ His eyes never left mine. ‘What are you getting my daughter into?’

The honest answer was that I didn’t know. But I also knew Sarah was tougher than he wanted to admit. If she wanted to be involved, neither of us would be able to stop her, not that I wanted to. I needed her help. Sarah walked back into the room. Don relaxed back into his chair, but he’d made his point.

I had a plan in mind. Talking to Don had jogged an old memory. I knew where to go, so I was pleased Sarah had agreed to help Niall at the bar ahead of the opening. I wanted some time on my own to see where it would lead.

Sarah broke the silence as we drove. ‘What did my dad say, then?’

‘Not much.’

‘He wanted me out the room for some reason, did he?’

‘He told me to leave Roger Millfield alone.’ It was my turn to ask a question. ‘Why is your dad doing this? I thought he’d decided to take it easy and enjoy his retirement?’

‘So did I.’

We pulled up at a set of traffic lights. It didn’t sit right with me, but the problem I had was that I didn’t know how much I should tell her about her father. If it made me a coward, so be it. ‘We’ll sort it out,’ I said.

‘It’s not like him,’ she said. ‘I’m worried. He’s determined to shut me out.’

The lights changed. I put the car in gear and changed the subject. ‘I told him about the cigarettes.’

‘What did he say to that?’

‘That I should go to the police.’

‘Ironic of him, I suppose.’

I headed for Anlaby Road. If I wanted to know about Don’s enemies, I knew a good place to start. I’d promised Sarah I’d get to the bottom of it, and if the person who’d attacked Don was hired muscle, as I suspected, chances were they were going to come back.

When I’d crossed Frank Salford in a previous case, myself and Don had spoken to an old police colleague of his. Gerard Branning had retired, but he retained an encyclopaedic knowledge of local criminality throughout the decades. He regularly drank in a one of the area’s pubs. I remembered that he went in there most days after walking his dog. I parked up and made my way in.

I told the barman who I was looking for.

‘He’s not here.’

I asked for a Diet Coke and told him to keep the change.

‘Last of the big spenders,’ he said, passing me my drink.

‘Have you seen Gerard recently?’

‘Police?’

I shook my head. ‘He’s an old friend.’

The barman took a moment to make his decision before shouting across to a guy practising at the dartboard. ‘What’s the name of that place Gerard went into?’

The name of a care home was shouted back at me.

‘He’s been ill,’ the barman told me.

The address I’d been given was in Hessle, a small settlement on the outskirts of Hull. I passed the Square and counted down the streets until I found the one I wanted. The place I wanted was at the bottom of a cul-de-sac. I’d been told Branning had undergone an operation. He had no family, so it was easier for him to recover away from his own home. I pressed the buzzer and waited. When it was answered, I said I was a friend of Branning’s. Nothing happened. I assumed she had gone to check with him. Eventually I was allowed in and shown to a day room. The place was surprisingly noisy. Alarms and bells constantly sounded, the smell of overcooked vegetables lingered in the air and staff rushed from room to room. Gerard Branning sat in the far corner of the room, next to the window. The care assistant who had shown me through left us to it.

‘Ridley’s partner?’ he said. ‘I remember you.’

‘That’s right.’ I sat down opposite him.

‘At least you’re a friendly face. I don’t see too many of them stuck in here. I assume you went to the pub to find me?’

I told him that was exactly what I’d done.

‘Hardly matters. Friend or enemy. It’s the price you pay for working in the police. Besides, look at me, who’s going to be interested in a man in my condition?’

I poured him a glass of water and told him the story I’d prepared as I’d driven to see him. ‘I’m sorting out a party for Don and I need some help with the guest-list.’

‘His 65th?’

I nodded. ‘Who should I be inviting?’

Branning gave me a list of names. I made a note of them to keep up appearances. Some of the names I’d heard before, some were new to me. I let him reminisce for a while. It put a smile on his face, and truth be told, I enjoyed listening to his stories. I got us back on track. ‘Is there anyone I shouldn’t ask?’

Branning thought about the question. ‘Don’s a good man. He always did the job as it should be done. In fact, I don’t think anyone worked harder than he did. And he worked some tough cases in his time. Do you remember Bruce Lee, the arsonist? He worked that one. It was tough. Three children dead.’

‘I can imagine.’

‘He worked the Christopher Laverack case, too.’

I knew that case had pushed Don to his limits. He would often speak about it. A nine year old boy sexually assaulted and battered to death. Sarah wouldn’t have been much older than the boy at the time. I knew the case had resonated with him.

‘As for enemies,’ Branning said, ‘there was Reg Holborn. He was a DI like Don, but they never saw eye to eye. I never pushed him on it. I never had any time for Holborn, either, but you learn to mind your own business.’ He tapped his nose. ‘You learn to keep that out.’

I wrote the name down and underlined it. I looked up at Branning. ‘He wasn’t on the level?’

‘He made plenty of arrests’.

I waited for Branning to elaborate. He said nothing further, but I got the point. I tapped my pen on the pad resting on my knee and decided to take a chance. ‘What can you tell me about George Sutherland?’

‘He was very much Frank Salford’s man. Obviously you’ll know all about him. They both came up in the late sixties from the council estates and made names for themselves at the rugby and the football. Gang culture is nothing new, believe me. Sutherland was well in with Frank Salford, but so far as I know, he kept his head down. We could never prove anything against him, either. On paper, he was legitimate. We suspected he was money laundering for Salford in his pubs, but again, nothing stuck. Even the VAT man went in for a sniff around but didn’t get anywhere. We couldn’t prove it, but we knew Salford really owned the pubs. He must have been protected or Salford wasn’t too bothered if he was skimming cash from him. All I know is they were tight.’

‘Sounds like he hasn’t changed all that much,’ I said, thinking about his pub. ‘Everything is cash-based.’ I was ready to leave. I needed some fresh air and he’d given me something to work with. I thought about Sutherland’s apparent change in character. He’d gone from an under the radar criminal to teeing up a significantly risky operation that would end with serious prison time if caught. With a sinking feeling in my stomach, I realised he was a man with nothing to lose. His wife of thirty years had left him and his business was failing. This was his chance to be a player. And I’d facilitated it. Dragging me into it all was going to give him a measure of revenge. I could see that now. I thanked Branning and got as far as the door before he called out to me.

‘It’s Don’s 64th this year.’

I stopped with my back to him and smiled. He’d known all along.

‘You know where I am if you need me, Joe,’ he said.

The History Centre housed the city’s archives and local studies library. I wanted to review back issues of the Hull Daily Mail. It was quiet with only a handful of people at work, so I was able to persuade a member of staff to assist me. The archives had plenty references to Reg Holborn. I went straight to the article on his retirement. Holborn had retired as a Detective Chief Inspector and an event had been held in his honour at one of the city’s boxing clubs. He had obviously been well thought of. I glanced through the details. Alongside Don, he’d worked on all the major murder investigations Hull had seen in recent times. The ones I’d spoken to Branning about, Bruce Lee and Christopher Laverack, were both included. As Holborn had moved up the ranks, he’d taken the lead on the doorstep stabbing of driving instructor Keith Slater in 1988, and then in 1994, the doorstep shooting of Shane George. That had been the first time I could remember such an incident in the city. It had felt like a definite shift, a move to more violent and final solutions. I knew from the stories Don had told me how difficult the job had been, especially if you were leading the investigations. Holborn had done a tough job for several decades. My helper brought me more items to review. I looked at photographs of Holborn taken at various civic events. He’d done a lot of work for his favourite charities, particularly those which benefited young people. He had been a patron of a well-known local boxing club, which made sense, given the venue for his retirement celebration. I read the accompanying article. Holborn had been taken to the place as a youngster and he’d felt it had given him some purpose in life and he wanted to pass it on. Boxing had been his passion and escape from the rigours of the job. I’d thought Don’s escape had been his family life, but that assumption had been turned on its head by what Neil Farr had told me. I turned to the photographs of Holborn standing alongside various Lord Mayors and local members of Parliament. They were always Labour. It was that kind of city. Holborn had moved in impressive circles, seemingly a popular man. I stared out of the window at Freetown Way. Cars hurried past, skirting around the edge of city centre. I went back to the screen and checked the most recent mention of Holborn. I read the story again. He’d died in a house fire a couple of weeks ago.