Death in July (6 page)

Sam didn't ask any more. He didn't want to arouse Dave's suspicious with endless questions. Instead, he ordered another whisky and took it to a quiet table. He needed time to think.

Two incidents, one year apart. Two men of identical build and dress paying unwanted visits to Geoffrey's home. They had to be the same person, it was too much of a co-incidence. Supping thoughtfully on his drink, Sam couldn't make head or tail of it, but he was sure of two things. Firstly, last night had been no random burglary. This man was interested in Geoffrey for a particular reason. Secondly, Sam reckoned the intruder wasn't aware Geoffrey had passed away, and unless he was friend or family, why should he? As Sam had observed earlier, the cottage still looked inhabited at first glance.

A thought struck him. One that sent a cold shiver down his spine.

Had the intruder failed to get what he wanted last year? Had last night been about completing unfinished business?

Most importantly...was he coming back again?

***

An hour later, they were back at Geoffrey's cottage.

'Why don't we go to the police?' asked Benjamin. 'Tell them about last night. Explain how the description matches up with the man who attacked my father last year.'

Once again, Sam was taken with Benjamin's tenacity.

'They still won't do anything,' he said. 'A big man in dark clothes. Possibly the same person again. It's not enough for them to go on. They'll make notes and say they'll look into it-'

'And then not bother doing anything,' huffed Benjamin, chin planted firmly on his knuckles.

'You're learning quickly,' grinned Sam. 'A regular cynic.'

Benjamin wasn't laughing. He gave Sam a serious look.

'What is this all about, Sam? What's going on here?'

Sam got up to leave. He wanted that word with Moira.

'Benjamin, that is what I aim to find out.'

***

Leaving the cottage, Sam saw John Carr in his front garden, pruning his rose bushes under the burning sun.

'Hi, John.'

'Hello, Sam. Have you been in to see Benjamin?'

'Yeah, he's sorting out some more of his father's things. Talking of which, I hear you were the one who found Geoffrey the night he died.'

John put his secateurs down and took his gardening gloves off. Beads of sweat had formed on his forehead.

'That's right. Unfortunately, I was too late to help.'

Sam smiled easily.

'I don't suppose it would have made any difference if you'd had a spare key...'

John looked at Sam blankly.

'You know, if you'd been able to let yourself in to the cottage rather than waiting for the police...'

John looked away and wiped his brow.

'I, er, did have a spare key, but I lost it. I asked Benjamin a while back to get me another one cut.'

Sam listened with interest. Benjamin hadn't mentioned a lost key.

'Mmmm, only Benjamin was wondering about it himself. It didn't cross his mind until today.'

Not until Sam had brought it up.

'Well, he must have forgot about it,' said John, looking cagey. 'I did tell him.'

Sam raised an eyebrow.

'I'm telling the truth, Sam,' spluttered John, bristling. 'Anyway, why are you so interested?'

Sam had been waiting the bite back. He decided to push a bit more.

'It just struck me as strange that-'

A brief flash of anger shone in John Carr's eyes.

'What has this got to do with you, Sam?' he retorted. 'Who are you? You turn up out of nowhere and start asking questions-'

'I'm just helping Benjamin out.'

'Well, keep your nose out of my business!'

Sam watched John march back into his house. He was intrigued by the sudden change of personality.

There was no doubt.

John Carr was rattled for some reason.

***

Sam had just started up the stairs to his flat when he heard raised voices coming from the flower shop. He stopped and listened. It sounded as though Moira and Alice were arguing. Puzzled, he went back out and let himself in the florists. Neither woman appeared to have heard the jangle of the doorbell.

'But why did you have to tell her where I was?'

'Alice, your mother was worried.'

'I'm a grown woman, Aunt Moira!'

'I know you are, love, but she said you took off without any explanation. It's only natural for her to wonder where-'

Sam coughed. Both women looked at him, flushed in the cheeks.

'Sorry to interrupt, ladies. Is everything okay?'

Alice huffed and turned away.

'Sam, I've gone and put my foot in it,' said Moira, close to tears. 'I told Alice's mum where she is...'

Alice whirled around, her own eyes glistening.

'And that must be how Richard  found out! He wouldn't have had a clue otherwise!'

Moira put an arm around Alice.

'I'm so sorry, darling. I didn't realise how bad things were between you and Richard until you told me earlier-'

Alice shrugged her off.

'I'm going,' she said, shaking her head. 'I need time to think.'

With that, she leaned under the counter, grabbed her bag and stormed out the shop. Moira looked at Sam, stunned.

'Sam?'

'I'll go after her,' he nodded.

***

'Alice!'

She stopped but didn't turn around. Sam caught her up.

'Where are you going?' he asked.

'Back to the apartment,' she snapped, anger in her voice.

'Do you want a lift?'

She turned around and gave him a stony look.

'I thought coming here was a good idea but-'

'Alice?'

'What?'

'Let me take you back. You're in no mood for walking. You'll probably thump someone on the way...'

Alice stared at him for a few moments, then her features softened.

'Okay,' she said quietly.

'Good,' said Sam, getting out his keys. 'Here, have a seat in the car while I let Moira know what's happening.'

Sam passed her the keys and watched her head towards his car. He went back to the shop and popped his head inside the door. Moira was leaning against the counter, dabbing her nose with a tissue. She gave Sam a forlorn look.

'Moira, I'm going to drop Alice back at your place.'

'Thanks, Sam,' she sniffed. 'Try and talk to her, will you? Tell her I'm sorry.'

Sam told her not to worry. Everything was going to be alright.

***

'Moira would never do anything to hurt you or put you in danger.'

Alice shook her head. Sam tried again.

'She wouldn't-'

'I know, Sam,' sighed Alice. 'I'm just angry right now. I know it's not her fault. I'll apologise to her later.'

Sam drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. They were sat in his car outside Moira's apartment. The sun was setting in front of them.

'So, why didn't you tell your mother where you were going?'

Alice sighed. It was a deep, meaningful sound.

'Because I knew this would happen if she found out. What you've got to understand is my ex, Richard, is a charmer. Always has been. He's managed to convince everybody, including my mum and friends, that his fling was nothing. A silly mistake. They think I should give him another chance.'

'And you think your mum told him where you are?'

'Probably,' nodded Alice. 'She would have done it innocently. She just can't see how strongly I feel.'

Sam didn't know what else to say. His heart went out to Alice.

'What will you do now?' he asked.

Alice shook her head. She really didn't know.

***

Sam got out of his car, locked up and started across the road to his flat. The flower shop was closed and shrouded in darkness. Moira would be home now, hopefully making up with her niece. Alice had been in a far more agreeable mood when Sam left her.

Sam's thoughts turned to the intruder at the cottage. He wondered what the man wanted with Geoffrey. And what about John Carr's caginess? Something was amiss there. But Sam couldn't see how-

Suddenly, tyres screeched and an engine roared. Sam looked around. Headlights were bearing down on him at speed. Instinctively, he leapt for the kerbside and threw himself hard against his flat door. Wheels mounted the pavement and his world was full of dazzling white light. A glancing blow struck him on the thigh as the vehicle swept past him. His leg buckled and he collapsed to the floor. Lying on the cool pavement, he gritted his teeth and turned his head. A pair of blurred red lights disappeared into the darkness.

***

Sam dragged himself out of his car and hobbled towards the cottage. Inside, he followed the same routine as the previous night, settling down in the armchair, focusing on the front of the cottage. Only this time he had a bottle of whisky and a box of painkillers for company. The pain in his thigh was constant, the slightest movement sending searing bolts of fire up his leg. Placing two tablets in his mouth, Sam washed them down with a generous helping of alcohol and contemplated the irony of what he was doing. He could almost be replaying the past.

Sat in an armchair in the dark. Suffering discomfort in his leg. Helping himself to pills and alcohol. Living out Geoffrey's last moments.

He snapped out of it when his phone vibrated. Benjamin was calling him. Sam turned his phone off. Benjamin had asked him earlier if he was coming back here tonight. Sam had told him he wasn't. What Benjamin didn't know...

Sam didn't want any unwanted interference tonight. He had locked the front and back doors from the inside on arrival in case Benjamin decided on another impromptu appearance. A bit drastic, perhaps, but Sam needed to work alone from now on. Anyway, he doubted Benjamin would dare turn up alone this evening after last night's escapade.

The next few hours passed slowly. During that time, Sam's rage at nearly being run over subsided from boiling anger to burning resolve. He knew it was vital to retain cold focus. Blind recklessness would be his downfall.

Sam stayed awake all night. The sporadic doses of unorthodox medication kept the pain at bay. However, nothing happened. No unusual noises. No unwelcome visitors. As the morning sunlight began to cascade through the window, Sam considered the possibility nothing else would happen.

The thought depressed him.

Sam woke up feeling sore. He looked at his watch. Midday. He had slept like a baby after returning from the cottage. Pulling back his bed sheet, Sam winced at the sight of his leg. His thigh was swollen and discoloured. He was positive nothing was broken, but getting about was going to be highly uncomfortable for the foreseeable future.

He drove over to Benjamin's bungalow, grimacing every time he pressed down on the foot pedals. But if Sam was suffering, it looked nothing compared to the anguish Benjamin was going through. He answered the door to Sam unshaven, bleary-eyed and downright miserable.

'What's up with your face?' asked Sam.

'Come in, Sam. I want to talk to you.'

Sam followed him into the front room, where they took a seat each either end of the sofa. Benjamin continued to look despondent.

'Well?' said Sam.

Benjamin rubbed his hands together nervously.

'Arnold moved out of here last night. He's staying in a hotel until the funeral.'

Sam waited for Benjamin to elaborate.

'He said he couldn’t stand watching me make a fool of myself anymore over our father. He told me I need to move on and forget about the way he died...that I should just let it go.'

Sam studied Benjamin closely. The man had clearly been shaken by his brother's decision to leave. Sam noticed something else. An uncertainty in Benjamin's eyes that Sam hadn't seen since the day the two of them met in his office.

'And what do you think?'

Benjamin hesitated. He gave Sam a guarded look.

'I've given it a lot of thought, Sam. I think he's right...'

Sam raised his eyebrows but remained silent.

'It's the funeral tomorrow,' continued Benjamin. 'I should be letting my father rest in peace now rather than stirring things up. I'm asking that you bring a halt to the investigation. I'll pay you for the rest of the week.'

Sam was stunned. He couldn't believe this sudden change in attitude. Benjamin had been so adamant about his father's death, so determined to ensure justice was served.

'What about the intruder at the cottage?' asked Sam. 'And the attack on your father last-'

Benjamin shot to his feet.

'None of it matters anymore, Sam! Can't you see that? Like Arnold said, I need to move on, get the funeral over with and carry on with my own life.'

In that moment, Sam was taken by many things about Benjamin.

The exasperation in his voice.

The moral conflict, almost visible on his face, over what to do for the best.

The way his words echoed those of his brother.

***

Sam left the bungalow and limped to his car. He had parted with Benjamin on relatively good terms.

And why shouldn't he?

Benjamin had done him no harm. He hadn't taken his decision to take Sam off the case lightly, and he was paying Sam for longer than necessary. No, Benjamin was a decent bloke just struggling with sensitive issues right now. Sam made it clear he respected Benjamin's decision, and in turn, Benjamin asked if Sam would still come to the funeral. Sam replied in the affirmative while handing over his illicit copy of Benjamin's key to the cottage. Then the two men shook hands and wished each other well. All very civilised.

Sam climbed gingerly into his car, glad he had made two copies of that key the other day. On his way out the bungalow, he had memorised the address of Arnold's hotel from the writing pad next to Benjamin's telephone. He had also noted which drawer Benjamin stored his father's personal memorabilia, those he had removed from the cottage.

Just in case.

***

Sam sat at the bar nursing his whisky. The Barton was surprisingly quiet this lunch time, given the weekend was almost upon them and the weather was holding fine. Sam had spent the last ten minutes cradling his single malt, resting his crocked leg, deep in thought but getting nowhere fast.

'Blimey, Sam!' cried Archie, carrying boxes of crisps into the bar. 'If you think any harder, son, you're going to do yourself an injury. Talking of which, did I see you limp in here earlier?'

Sam told him he had run into a door. An occupational hazard in the world of private investigation. Archie grinned. Sam didn't laugh along with him.

'Sam, how's the case going?'

'How does my face look, Archie?'

'That bad, eh?'

'Worse. There's definitely reason to be suspicious about Geoffrey Compton's death.'

Archie was confused.

'Well, that's good news, isn't it?'

'It should be,' sighed Sam. 'Only the man paying the gig has got cold feet and called it off.'

'And you think he should carry on?'

Sam shook his head.

'It's his choice, Archie.'

Archie leaned on the bar and looked Sam straight in the eye.

'This has got personal for you, hasn't it? That's why you don't want to drop it.'

This time Sam did laugh.

'Well?' said Archie.

***

Sam left the pub filled with renewed vigour. If he wanted to catch the person who had driven at him, he needed to get to the bottom of Geoffrey's death. Archie was right. Sam had his teeth into this and he didn't want to let go.

Nor was he going to.

Sam knew Geoffrey had made the news once or twice over the years, so he started by visiting the offices of the local paper. A young clerk with a floppy fringe, studded earrings and extremely tight jeans recognised Geoffrey's name immediately and retrieved all the articles featuring him. One after another, he lay them out for Sam's perusal.

Geoffrey's wedding to Marjorie Dawson, Benjamin and Arnold's mother, had been recorded for posterity. The single photograph showed the young couple outside the church after the ceremony in March 1946. Arm in arm, the newly-weds smiled lovingly into each other's eyes.

The next article featured the dramatic incident at the coal mine years later, when the shaft collapsed, trapping a number of workers inside. A number of pictures showed exhausted, blackened men emerging from the mine following the rescue. Geoffrey had been one of the lucky ones, despite the injury to his leg. The final death toll was fifteen. It was the worst disaster ever to strike Newgate.

Last year's attack on Geoffrey had also been major news. The accompanying picture showed Geoffrey recovering in a hospital bed, scowling once more for the camera. This time he had good reason. His face was black and blue with bruises.

The final, poignant mention of Geoffrey was in the obituaries column. Placed a couple of days ago, the small advert told of a loving family man, sadly missed, followed by details of the upcoming funeral. Sam sighed. From marriage to death. A lifetime on a few sheets of paper.

'Isn't there anything from his younger days?' asked Sam. 'From before he got married?'

'This is all we have,' replied the clerk, collecting the articles up. 'I must say, this Mr Compton seems to be very popular since he died.'

Sam was puzzled by the cryptic comment.

'What do you mean?'

'Well, you're the second person to ask about him today. That's why I remembered his name when you came in.'

'What did the other person want?'

The clerk placed the newspaper articles back in a box, closed the lid and crossed his arms in an effeminate way. He gave Sam a searching look.

'That's the strange thing,' he said breathlessly. 'You want to know all about Mr Compton's life, whereas this man was only interested in his death.'

'In what way?'

'The date he died...when he was going to be buried...'

Sam had a good idea who was asking the questions. What he needed was a good description.

***

'Tall. Big. Muscular. Very muscular...'

Sam encouraged the clerk to concentrate.

'A black woolly hat. Indoors...in the middle of summer? Very strange. As was the obsession with black clothes. Shoes. Jeans. Jumper. Jacket. The man must be melting in this heat.'

Sam dropped another gentle reminder to stay on-topic.

'Thirties, perhaps. Hard to tell. Strong jaw. Good teeth. Blue eyes. Slight stubble. Strands of blonde hair peeking out from under the hat.'

Sam told the clerk he was most observant and thanked him for his help.

***

Sam relaxed on a bench overlooking the Haymarsh Hotel. It was one of the finer establishments in Newgate. A doorman stood on the red carpeted steps, waiting patiently for customers to ferry inside. The hotel's car park was full of high-end motors, each one painstakingly manoeuvred into its allotted space by a member of staff. Arnold had clearly decided on the good life for the remainder of his stay.

Sam spotted him walking towards the hotel, distracted, head down, fiddling with his phone. Sam got up and made his way over to the hotel entrance. Arnold hadn't noticed him yet. Sam started walking towards him, accentuating his limp.

'Arnold!' he called out.

Arnold looked up in surprise. He raised a hand in Sam's direction.

'Hey, Sam. How are-'

He hesitated when he saw Sam's lop-sided walk.

'What have you done?' he asked.

Sam grinned sheepishly.

'Shut my leg in the car door, didn't I?'

Arnold raised his eyebrows. A bemused smile played around the corners of his mouth. Sam studied the reaction. It looked natural enough.

'I called on your brother earlier...'

Arnold's face dropped.

'Did he tell you I've moved out?'

Sam nodded.

'He's decided we should stop investigating your father's death.'

'Why?'

Sam was struck by the innocence of the question.

'I think he took on board what you said to him last night.'

'Last night?'

'Yeah, about letting go and moving on. About the way he's making a fool of himself over all-'

'I didn't say any of that last night,' protested Arnold. 'Yes, the atmosphere at the bungalow had got too heavy for me. I told Benny I needed space, but that was all I said-'

Arnold stopped and gave Sam a bewildered look.

'Hold on. Are you saying he's done this because of me?'

'That's how he made it sound,' nodded Sam.

Arnold shook his head earnestly.

'No way, Sam. I'd already had my say, and I wasn't going to waste my breath repeating myself. Anyway, my brother's never let me persuade him to do anything in his life. When he was eighteen, I used to try and get him to leave home, but he wouldn't listen. He wouldn't even entertain the idea. He saw it as being disloyal to our parents, despite everything-'

Sam's phone began to ring. It was Moira, sounding urgent and breathless.

'Sam, somebody's trying to break into the apartment.'

He could hear fear in her voice. She was trying to control it.

'Are you inside?' he asked. 'Is Alice with you?'

'We're in the living room. There's no way we can get out.'

The line crackled with tension.

'Call the police. I'm on my way.'

'I have...they're coming. I just don't know how long they're going to be-'

The line went dead.