Death in Dark Waters (11 page)

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Authors: Patricia Hall

Tags: #Fiction, #Mystery & Detective, #Police Procedural

BOOK: Death in Dark Waters
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“Serious, was it?”
“Serious enough. Half a dozen charges of affray, a couple of ABH, three in hospital with minor stab wounds. And a whole chorus of the great and the good on the local radio this
morning calling for the place to be shut down. Including the local mosque, of course.” Laura usually listened to the local radio news as they snatched breakfast together, he thought, but this morning he had made sure he was not there when she woke.
“You're not suggesting it was a put-up job, are you?” Thackeray asked with half a smile. “I mean, if you want to get a place a reputation for rowdiness there's no easier way than providing a bit, is there? What was your impression when you interviewed the owners?”
“It didn't seem to be any worse than half a dozen other clubs on the patch,” Val said.
“And young Sharif? Would he agree with that assessment?”
“Omar's a bit uptight about these things,” Val said carefully. “The Carib's very close to Aysgarth Lane. There's been a long history of trouble between the black and Asian youngsters there. Omar's not just aware of that, I guess he was probably part of it when he was at school. The older generation seemed to be doing their best to damp it down but I'm not so sure now.”
“I heard Omar didn't endear himself to the DJ when you arrested him yesterday,” Thackeray said, to Val Ridley's evident surprise. “Over the top, was he?”
“I don't think so, sir,” she said, not daring to ask how he had come by his information. “Not much love lost, but nothing you'd need the race relations thought-police for.”
“The last thing I want with this Carib row going on are allegations that the police are taking sides, or being racist in any way,” Thackeray said. “Keep an eye on Sharif, will you? And on anyone else who might raise the tension - by accident or design.”
“Sir,” Val Ridley said, her face expressionless, and Thackeray knew that she did not like the order, although whether that was because she thought he was over-reacting or because she did not want to mother a younger colleague,
he could not tell. She probably suspected that he would not have asked any of her male colleagues to do the same, and she was probably right, he thought wryly.
Ridley hesitated by the door.
“Have you heard anything from Kevin?” she asked at last. “When he's coming back.”
“He's got another couple of weeks before he needs to make a decision,” Thackeray said. Another boss might have teased her about her interest but that was not the way he worked. “Last I heard he was doing fine.”
“He's a good copper,” Val said defensively.
“I know that, Val,” Thackeray said. “Don't worry. I'm not looking for an excuse to get rid of him.”
She nodded and closed the door quietly behind her, leaving Thackeray to contemplate his economy with the truth. Val Ridley, he guessed, still carried a torch for Kevin Mower, in spite of the sergeant's near contemptuous lack of interest, but he saw no reason to cause her unnecessary anxiety about his future. But while he would be happy to have Mower back on his team he knew there were those above him in the hierarchy who might not be so keen. When it came to the crunch, he knew that he might have to fight for Mower's future career. And he owed him that, at least.
For the rest of the morning he ploughed through the paperwork and it was not until lunch-time that Val Ridley knocked on his door again and dropped a copy of the first edition of the day's Bradfield Gazette on his desk.
“I thought you'd like to see that, boss.” The headline jumped out at him
“Drug club facing closure”.
He read Bob Baker's front page story with growing anger before taking the stairs two at a time to superintendent Jack Longley's office. Longley raised an eyebrow as the DCI was admitted to his sanctum.
“Summat up, Michael?” he asked mildly.
“I just wondered who the police spokesman was who's
allegedly said we're considering taking action on the Carib,” Thackeray said, spreading the paper in front of Longley just as Val Ridley had spread it in front of him. Longley cast an eye over it.
“Gone to town a bit, has he?” he murmured. “He was trying to get hold of me last night, but I got the wife to tell him to go through the Press office. I'd nowt to say to Baker. I'd like to know who has been blabbing in that direction, mind.”
“So
are
we considering closing the place down? On the say-so of Grantley Adams? The black kids will play merry hell. It's the only place they really call their own.”
“If we do close it, it'll be when I say so and on my say-so, not Adams's, or the imams from the mosque. But yes, after the little fracas last night, following on from the accident, uniform's not happy. They thought they might try out these new powers to close rowdy pubs and clubs. D'you have a problem with that?”
“Not if the trouble stems from the club itself and not from people trying to get it closed down by making sure there's trouble there,” Thackeray said.
“Yes, well, it has to be said that Barry Foreman says his door-policy will keep the trouble-makers out.”
Thackeray found it hard to conceal his astonishment at that.
“I met him at this regeneration committee they've asked me on,” Longley said quickly. “He rang me yesterday and we had a chat about the Carib. He reckons he can keep the drugs out.”
“Does he?” Thackeray said, not bothering to hide his scepticism. “That's not what I hear happens at the other clubs where he does the doors. Word is that selected dealers get in with no questions asked. His own men, no doubt. We just don't have the evidence to prove it.”
“Aye, well, I've told you before, he's well in now, is Foreman. If you reckon he's anything other than a respectable businessman you'll have to find some cast-iron evidence to prove it.”
“And the Carib?” Thackeray said, his unease growing.
“My feeling is that we give the Carib one last chance to see if Foreman's as good as his word. But if we get trouble on the streets again we'll be under a lot of pressure.”
“My guess is you'll get trouble on the streets either way,” Thackeray said. “It's a no win situation. In the meantime, it looks as if we'll be able to interview the Adams boy shortly. He′s regained consciousness, apparently.”
“Has he?” Longley said. “That's good. You'll go and see him yourself, will you?” It was not phrased as an instruction but Thackeray had no doubt what was intended.
“I'll see if I can find the time,” he said, grudging what he had already decided to do anyway. “Don't worry, we'll get the kid gloves out, but if he's been dealing he'll get no favours from me.”
“Of course not, Michael,” Longley said, unembarrassed.
By mid-afternoon Thackeray found himself waiting with Val Ridley outside a side-room off a ward at the Infirmary. Through the frosted glass windows it was possible to see the shapes of several people moving about the small room and when eventually the door was opened by Grantley Adams himself, they found Victor Mendelson, one of the town's leading solicitors, sitting on one side of Jeremy Adams's bed, and his mother on the other, with an anxious-looking young nurse hovering at the end of the bed.
Thackeray nodded to Mendelson, who was the father of one of his few close friends in Bradfield, the friend who had introduced him to Laura Ackroyd at a dinner party, every minute of which he still remembered well. He introduced himself and Val Ridley to the boy on the bed, who was watching the proceedings from beneath a swathe of bandages with surprisingly wide-awake eyes considering he was supposed to have been unconscious for days. Thackeray nodded to the boy's parents and then held the door open wide.
“If you'll excuse us, we'd like to talk to Jeremy alone please. Victor will represent his interests very ably, I'm sure.”
Grantley Adams, face flushed, opened his mouth as if to object but his wife got to her feet quickly, took his arm and urged him into the corridor as Victor Mendelson held up a placatory hand. The nurse followed the parents out of the room.
“How are you feeling, Jeremy?” Thackeray asked after introducing himself and taking a seat on the other side of the bed from the lawyer. “You're quite sure you feel fit enough to answer some questions about the night of your accident?”
The boy nodded.
“I'm not sure I remember much,” he said.
“It's not the accident I'm so interested in as what happened before,” Thackeray said. “There were plenty of witnesses to what happened outside the club. What I'd like to know is where you came by the drug which was found in your blood stream when the hospital came to do tests. In other words, where did you get the Ecstasy from?”
“I'm not sure my client should answer that,” Victor Mendelson said.
“It's all right,” the boy came back quickly. “Honestly, I can't remember. That whole evening is a blur.”
“You can't remember whether you took it before you went to the club or while you were in there?”
“What does Louise say?” the boy prevaricated.
“I can't tell you that,” Thackeray said. “I want you to try to remember without any prompting.”
Jeremy shook his head and then winced and passed a hand which was shaking slightly across his eyes.
“I can't recall, you know. I'm sorry.”
“Can you recall whether it was the first time you'd taken Ecstasy?” Thackeray asked.
“Oh, yes, it must have been. It's not a habit or anything like that. It was Louise's birthday, a celebration. We must have decided to give it a try.”
“You mean she supplied it?”
“No, I don't mean that at all,” the boy said with a startled look at the lawyer. “But it's difficult to remember.”
“And what about the cannabis? Is that a habit?”
Victor Mendelson made to intervene but Thackeray shook his head sharply.
“We found some in his room,” he explained.
Jeremy Adams shut his eyes and sighed heavily.
“Just now and again we'd have a spliff,” he said. “Honestly, it was nothing. We never took it to school or anything. Just in the house, usually.”
“And did your parents know this was going on?”
“No, of course not.”
“And who supplied you with the cannabis?” Thackeray persisted, although he knew he would not get an answer.
“Oh, friends of friends, you know. It's not difficult to get hold of. No regular dealer or anything. It's harmless enough. You know that.”
Thackeray ignored that.
“So you can't tell me the name of anyone you've bought illegal drugs off - ever?” he snapped. “These things just came into your possession almost inadvertently?”
The boy glanced at his lawyer and shook his head helplessly.
“That's the way it is, you know?” he said. And Thackeray almost believed him.
Outside in the corridor he found Grantley Adams waiting, his broad face still suffused with colour. His wife fluttered to one side of him like a nervous bird. Adams opened his mouth as if to launch a new tirade but Thackeray was determined to get in first.
“We won't bother Jeremy again until he's recovered,” he said. “But we may well want to talk to him again at some point, Mr. Adams. He doesn't deny he's been taking illegal drugs.”
“Did he tell you where he got the stuff? The Ecstasy?” Adams asked.
“No, he didn't,” Thackeray said. “Nor where he got the cannabis we found in his bedroom. Did you know he had cannabis in the house, Mr. Adams?”
“Of course I bloody didn't,” Adams said. “I'd have tanned his backside for him if I had, never mind how big he's grown. What I want to know is where he's been getting it from. I'd put odds on it being that bloody club.”
“That's what we'd like to know too,” Thackeray said. “But hasn't it crossed your mind that Jeremy may not just have been buying drugs, but selling them too. That he may have been a dealer …” Mrs. Adams gave a faint moan at that.
“You what?” Adams said, his face becoming even more flushed. “What the hell are you suggesting now, man?”
“I'm not suggesting anything, Mr. Adams,” Thackeray said, aware that Victor Mendelson had followed him out of the ward and was watching him with what appeared to be a thin smile. “You have every right to know what line our inquiries might take when Jeremy's a bit more able to recall what he's been involved in recently. As I think you've said yourself, drugs are a menace and those who deal in them need to be identified.”
Adams appeared to deflate suddenly and turned a sickly shade of pale. He glanced at his lawyer for help but Mendelson was studying the no-smoking notice on the other side of the corridor with unusual interest.

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