A Dreadful Past (20 page)

‘And you didn't report them?' Thompson Ventnor asked. He was more than a little surprised, and also more than a little disappointed.

‘That's the pub trade.' Frank Peabody glanced at Ventnor. ‘I tell you it's as much about people watching as it is about selling the product. You get to learn that the loudmouths are full of hot air. I mean, the British Army would have to be twice as large as it is if all the “ex-soldiers” you get in here were telling the truth about serving Queen and country. And there was never any mention of the police wanting to talk to “four persons” following any attack that might have been reported. So I just put it all down to hot air. And no, I didn't report it.'

Thompson Ventnor shrugged. ‘So what can you tell us about them, the gang of four?'

‘It isn't much but as I remember, and my memory is a little hazy, the loudmouthed one of the two tall ones, he was heavily built, not particularly fit, just big and fat and overweight. He spoke with an East London accent, anxious to be popular. When he … when they first came in he said I could call him “Keith”, pronouncing Keith as “Keef”. Regional accents are an interest of mine, you see. I put him down as an East Londoner originally, I mean originally from East London. I never heard the other tall one talk. I don't remember his talking much at all, in fact. He always used to sit very still and very quietly. I always thought he was quite sinister in that he never gave anything away. The other two, the small male and the female, were also quiet but quiet in the sense that the other two kept them subdued and in their place.'

‘Would you say the girl was a full member of the gang?' Carmen Pharoah asked. ‘Not a hanger-on or a girlfriend of one of the males?'

‘Full member, I'd say.' Frank Peabody considered his reply. ‘Yes … full member. She was very masculine in her movements, drinking beer, wearing male boots … walking like a male. As I recall I didn't think she would find it easy to attract men; she might not even have been interested in men.'

‘I see.' Carmen Pharoah wrote in her notebook. ‘We knew a girl was involved in one of the attacks we are investigating but we didn't know whether the girl was fully part of the group … now it seems she was.'

‘Do you know,' Frank Peabody drummed his fingers on the recently polished table top, ‘like I said, it's all coming back; little details are drip-feeding back into my mind … and I think, only think, mind you, that she was called Molly.'

‘Molly?' Carmen Pharoah repeated.

‘Yes, as in the song, “In Dublin's fair city, where the girls are so pretty I first set my eyes on sweet Molly Malone” …'

‘Molly is usually short for Margaret,' Thompson Ventnor offered, ‘so two names … Keith and possibly Margaret, who was also known as Molly.'

‘And the small guy,' Frank Peabody continued, ‘always looked like he had a chip on both shoulders, him with those vicious-looking shoes he always wore with the pointed toe caps. I am sure that he was called Gerry.'

‘Gerry,' Carmen Pharoah wrote in her notepad. She glanced to her side as the cleaner eventually unplugged the vacuum cleaner and carried it out of the room. ‘So “Gerald” perhaps? This is very good,' she observed. ‘Very good. So just the other tall man, the sinister one, the quiet one … just him to name.'

‘Yes … just him.' Frank Peabody smiled. ‘But he turned out all right.'

‘He did?'

‘Yes. About five years ago now I was called up for jury service here in York. I really enjoyed it. I didn't think I would but we formed into a good group, the twelve of us, for a trial that lasted two weeks. Personalities emerged and some people swapped names and telephone numbers on the final day because friendships had begun, and one of the jurors, a retired coalminer called Desmond, he was a natural comic … We just had to laugh, so much so that the usher had to leave the court during legal submissions to come and tell us to be quiet, but he did so with a wink. I think he, and possibly the lawyers too, realized that we needed that stress release.'

‘Yes,' Carmen Pharoah nodded, ‘I think that would have been the case … they would not have been upset by the sound of your laughter.'

‘Well, we found the guy guilty and I had no sleepless nights. I was the foreman, in fact. I stood up and said “guilty”. The Crown's case was as solid as the Rock of Gibraltar and the other accused – there were two of them – the other one, well, he threw in the towel halfway through and changed his plea to guilty, which made our job easier because if one was guilty then so was the other … But the second one, he was a real psychopath … no guilt, no remorse. Nothing. He insisted on sticking to his not guilty plea. Anyway, we were asked to retire to consider our verdict. The judge told us to enter into “conclave”, which was a word I didn't know and so I had to look it up. It means “a meeting held in private to discuss a specific issue”, which I dare say is exactly what a jury is. We voted on the issue and within two minutes we found him guilty, twelve to nothing … unanimous. And very safe. We decided to stay out for two hours to give a better impression and got a free lunch in the process, but the point of this is … once we had returned and had delivered our verdict the judge asked for a probation officer to enter the court, and so one did. He stood in the witness box and the judge asked him for a helpful social background report, providing “insight” to assist him in sentencing. The upshot was that two weeks later the geezer who had changed his plea got eight years and the psychopath got twelve.'

‘Very interesting,' Carmen Pharoah pressed, ‘but where is this going?'

‘Well, where it is going,' Frank Peabody rested his elbows on his knees, ‘is that the probation officer who entered the court and stood in the witness box was none other than the quiet, tall one of the gang you are making inquiries about, the one I always thought very sinister. When I saw him I could hardly believe it. I really just could not believe my eyes and I thought, well, well, well, haven't you turned over a new leaf? Haven't you just.'

‘A probation officer.' Carmen Pharoah turned to Thompson Ventnor. ‘He isn't going to enjoy having his collar felt. He isn't going to enjoy it at all.'

‘He isn't, is he?' Ventnor replied. ‘Not one little bit.'

Yellich and Webster drove to Holgate. It was an area of soot-blackened terraced houses. Small houses behind the railway station had front doors abutting the pavement. It was one of the areas of York that tourists do not visit. Yellich turned into Windmill Rise and parked the car. He and Webster walked up to the door of number 134. They noted faded paintwork, knife damage to the woodwork and graffiti created by felt-tipped ink markers.

Yellich knocked on the door. ‘Police!' He showed his ID. He noted that the man who had opened the door seemed apprehensive. ‘We believe that a man called Brian Guest lives here?'

‘He does,' the man replied with a note of caution in his voice.

Yellich thought the man to be in his mid, possibly late thirties. He had long, straggly hair and didn't appear to have shaved for two or three days.

‘When did you last see him?' Yellich looked beyond the man and noted an untidy, cluttered hallway.

‘A couple of seconds ago.' The man coughed. ‘I caught sight of myself in the mirror as I got up to open the door.'

‘You're Brian Guest!' Yellich gasped.

‘Yes. Why? Look, I'm going straight. I'm doing well; my probation officer is pleased with me. He said so and I haven't missed an appointment with my probation officer. Not one. So what now …?'

‘We found your dole card this morning,' Yellich explained.

‘My dole card?' Guest felt in the back pocket of his jeans.

‘It was in an envelope addressed to Brian Guest, in one of the pockets,' Webster added. ‘We looked in the envelope and found the dole card.'

‘Oh … I forgot to take it out … I'll need it to get my money. I can't live without my benefit money unless I start thieving again and I don't want to do that. Can I get it back?'

‘In time,' Yellich advised. ‘Who was wearing the jacket?'

‘It's not really my jacket.' Guest looked at Yellich and then at Webster. ‘We share it. We saw it in a charity shop window and we had just enough money between us to buy it. So we bought the jacket and we share it. I last wore it when I went to sign on for the dole money. I must have left my card in the pocket. I keep the card in an old envelope addressed to me.'

‘Who shares it with you?' Yellich queried.

‘A geezer called Womack, Gerry Womack. He has the back bedroom. I have the front one.' Guest had become calmer, Yellich noted. His ‘coppers waters' told him that Guest probably had much to fear the police for despite his protestations to the contrary.

‘We'll need to see Womack's room,' Yellich pushed past Guest, ‘and no, we don't have a warrant so thanks for inviting us into the house. It's very public spirited of you.'

Gerald Womack's room was small, spartan, untidy and unclean. In the eyes of Webster and Yellich it was very unhealthy looking. The bed was unmade; clothing lay discarded on the floor. A bedside cabinet contained a few paperback books, a small amount of loose change and an inexpensive watch. Yellich turned to Guest, who had followed the officers up the narrow uncarpeted staircase. ‘What do you know about him? What do you know about Womack, the geezer who lives here in this room?'

‘Not much. I can't tell you a whole lot about him. I've only been here for a few months but he's been here for a few years. We're both doleys,' Guest explained. ‘We met in the dole queue and we got chatting. I told him I was looking for a new drum and he said that a room in the house he was in had become vacant. He said the rent was lower than normal. So I came to look at it and I moved in. It's not up to much but I was close to being homeless. For me it was a case of any port in a storm. He did once tell me that he'd never worked in his life – that I can tell you. He's got a bit of form so you'll know him. Petty stuff he said – shoplifting … stuff like that. He sleeps late, we both do … I mean, there's nothing to get out of bed for and it saves on breakfast. We usually eat from outside.'

‘You eat out?' Yellich was surprised. ‘A doley and you eat out?'

‘Chance would be a fine thing.' Guest forced a smile. ‘No. I mean we buy out and bring it in: pizza, fish and chips, that sort of gear … and Indian takeaways, Chinese takeaways … We also go skip diving behind the supermarket; we get some cans and other stuff. The amount of good food they throw away is criminal. Just criminal. But Womack, he's good at skip diving. He's a small geezer, really small, but can he dive into a skip and burrow away. He's just like a little ferret. I keep the edge while he does the business on account of the security guards. They don't like us doing it and if no one is looking they'll give us a kicking, but we take the risk because the food is still good and we sell what we don't want or what we can't keep. We let it go for less than half the price on the package and that brings in some cash. It's how we live.'

‘Has he any relatives that you know of?' Yellich asked.

‘Just his old mum, so I believe. She lives on the Tang Hall estate,' Guest said. ‘He told me about her once. He grew up on Tang Hall.'

‘Womack …' Yellich turned to Webster. ‘You know, I think we've met his mother. Carmen and Thompson visited her.'

‘I think we have met her as well,' Webster replied. ‘This case links with the … what was the word that the boss used? “Spate” … it links with the spate of cases twenty years ago. The boss said he had an inkling that it would be linked.'

‘Part and parcel of the same investigation. He was right.' Yellich nodded in agreement. He turned to Guest. ‘When did you last see Womack?'

‘Last night,' Guest replied. ‘He went out for a pizza. I'd eaten but he hadn't so he went to get one. He brought it home, ate it. He'd just eaten it when there was a hammering at the door. It was you guys … cops … the Old Bill.'

‘The police!' Yellich gasped. ‘The police were here last night?'

‘So I assumed … they were big enough, just walked in like you two did just now … I didn't argue. So they came in and found Gerry in the kitchen. They said, “Come on, Gerry, we need a chat”, you know, like coppers do. So he stood up, put our jacket on and went with them. He knew them; he looked a bit surprised to see them but he knew them all right. They'd arrested him before, I expect … Just took him out of the door then I heard a car start and drive away. That was the last I saw of him.'

George Hennessey and ‘Shored-up' sat opposite each other in the corner of the snug in the Speculation Inn at the end of Speculation Street near Walmgate Bar. It was a pub which was built in late Victorian times, like the housing which surrounded it, and had, so far as Hennessey could tell, largely escaped being irreparably damaged by twentieth-century ‘modernization'. The original windows of frosted glass remained with the name of the original owners, Sanders and Young Fine Ales still etched thereon, and through which the sun then streamed, giving the impression of the day being much warmer than it in fact was.

‘So what are you working on now, Shored-up?' Hennessey asked. ‘Or should I say “who” are you working on now? Who is your current victim?'

‘I am experiencing a lull, I'm afraid, Mr Hennessey.' Shored-up lifted his glass to his lips. He was a slender, thin-faced man, very clean and neatly groomed. ‘It's like that sometimes in my line of work … feast and famine then feast again. What goes around comes around. I'll be eating well again in a few weeks' time.'

‘Are you still a lieutenant colonel?' Hennessey picked up his glass of soda water and lime. ‘That is, Lieutenant Colonel, retired?'

‘Yes, yes, I am, Mr Hennessey. The rank is useful, a mixture of youth and authority, though I changed my regiment. I am now of the Sherwood Foresters,' Shored-up declared. ‘It sounds more romantic. And it was always such a danger that I might run into a widowed lady whose husband really was in the Durham Light Infantry and who knew the regimental personalities.'