Policeman's Progress (6 page)

Again the bitterness welled up. Grainger recognized it and tactfully eased the subject away.

‘Want me to follow it up – ask the Met to trace him?'

Alec shook his head. ‘Not worth the trouble. We've only got Stott's word that he's gone to London … and we know what
his
word is worth. Geordie's probably lurking in some Merseyside cellar club by now.'

Jimmy ran a hand through his wiry hair … he was another blond, who could have stepped straight off the streets of Oslo or Stockholm. ‘You want me to pack in this Armstrong thing, then. I got plenty else to do, I'll tell you.'

Bolam nodded at him over the next bit of ‘bumf'. Grainger was only on part-time assignment to him. As well as being involved in the gaming job, the sergeant dabbled in Aliens, Firearms, and Drugs.

‘Jack of all bloody trades, that's me!' he said cheerfully, hauling himself to his full six feet one.

‘And master of none! If you're so busy, why are you loafing round here?'

Grainger raised his hands in mock defence.

‘OK, OK, I'm going. Think I'll spend the afternoon in the pictures, to make sure there's no unregistered aliens in the audience.'

As he reached the door, Alec swung round in his swivel chair. ‘What did Geordie's landlord say about him leaving his belongings?'

‘Didn't seem too surprised. Sounded as if he hoped he'd never come back for 'em.'

‘The owner hadn't had word from him, then?'

‘No – it's only a day since Jackie gave him the sack, mind. Apparently, Geordie had already given notice to quit, but he had a couple of weeks to work out his monthly rent.'

‘You didn't go in to see his room?'

‘No, didn't think you were that interested … want me to go back?'

Alec shrugged. ‘No hurry … when you think of it, just to tie up the loose ends.'

The detective sergeant nodded and left, leaving Bolam to reach out with a sigh for the next piece of paper.

On the following evening, Jackie Stott sat behind a glass of whisky at one of the back tables in the big club room of the Rising Sun.

For a Tuesday, the crowd was very good, over half the tables being filled by ten thirty. Laura was in the middle of her first number. The audience were quiet and attentive, which was just as well, as Jackie would personally have dealt with anyone who dared create a rumpus whilst his bird was singing.

Their attentiveness was not so much because of her voice, but because of her figure. None of the men, except the few in a sentimentally drunken state, took much notice of the ballad she was whispering secretively into the hand-mike. But they all stared goggle-eyed at her legs. Laura wore a minidress of some glittery material which stopped abruptly at upper thigh level. With that outfit on, she could have been reciting Pythagoras' Theorem set to music for all the crowd cared.

Jackie sat contentedly, a glass in one hand and a thin cheroot in the other. Apart from the Geordie incident, and Laura's coolness, things seemed to be going very well.

That was a nasty moment when Bolam came snooping around
, he thought, but he had outsmarted the coppers again. A warm glow of self-congratulation spread through his soul and he downed the rest of his drink in celebration.

A finger crooked in the direction of the bar brought the barmaid at a gallop. She gave him another whisky and a big smile. Freda was a busty brunette, whom Jackie had in mind as a second string if anything happened to Laura – not that he wanted anything to happen to her, so long as she dropped this iceberg routine.

As his crooning mistress continued to wriggle her hips at the ‘mugs' while seemingly doing her best to swallow the microphone, Jackie began painting rosy pictures of the Stott nightclub empire. Thanks to Thor Hansen, the two in Newcastle were prospering and this one in Middlesbrough could hardly fail to be another success. Then …

He came back to earth as Laura finished and made her way over to his table, giving false smiles in reply to the hopeful leers of the men as she threaded between them.

‘Christ, gimme a gin and tonic! The air in here is like sewer gas!' she said.

Jackie snapped his fingers and Freda came over again, noticeably slower this time and without the welcoming smile, when she saw Laura sitting with Jackie.

The drink arrived and with it came Thor Hansen, who had been watching the play upstairs.

‘Fair crowd tonight, Thor,' observed Jackie expansively.

‘Lecherous lot of swine!' cut in Laura. ‘Can feel them undressing you with their eyes.'

Stott grinned. ‘Your bread and butter, pet – perhaps you ought to do the strip instead of Rita!'

The woman gave him a look that would have loosened the teeth of anyone less tough than Jackie. ‘Don't know why the hell I do it – I'm not appreciated round here, that's the trouble.'

‘
I
appreciate you, pet.' Jackie stretched out a hand and put it on her bare back. The dress, though high in front, dipped to the waist behind.

She twitched angrily to shake him off. ‘Lay off, will you, Jackie,' she hissed. ‘In front of all these damn goons!'

His lips tightened and his cheerful mood began to fade. The Dane sensed the bad atmosphere between the two and stepped in with his usual tact to change the subject. ‘Looks as if we're going to have a day free from the police.'

Jackie scowled. ‘That Bolam is getting a pest. What the hell does he think he's going to gain by creeping in here all the time?'

‘The other clubs get him, too – especially Eddie Freeman's – so we're not being singled out exclusively.'

Jackie shook his big head angrily. ‘He comes here a damn sight more than Eddie's and, God knows, Freeman is up to his neck in every racket in the book. So why does he hang around here?'

‘If you don't know that, you're even dafter than I thought,' snapped Laura, with icicles in her voice, and jerked her head across the room to a table near the band rostrum. ‘Who d'you think she is, then?'

Jackie stared at the place Laura had pointed out. At the table, a small one tucked against the wall, a dark girl of about twenty sat alone. This in itself was nothing unusual in Jackie's place, but the girls
he
knew were always there on business. This one was a world apart from them. She was quite good-looking, but by no means outstanding. The main point he noticed was that she gazed fixedly at the four-man music group on the stage. With chin resting on a hand, her eyes never left them.

‘What you trying to say, Laura?' he snapped irritably.

‘You'll see when the boys finish murdering that tune,' she retorted. The discordant wailing of an electric guitar, double bass, and electronic organ died with a final thump of drums and cymbal.

The Rising Sun audience were not the type to bother with applause for mere musicians and almost before the echoes had faded, the performers were on their way to the bar. All except one, the guitarist. He made his way across to the corner table where he kissed the dark girl, then sat down holding her hand across the Formica top.

‘See!' exclaimed Laura, triumphantly.

Jackie looked at her, baffled. ‘So what?'

The singer looked at him pityingly. ‘That's Bolam's daughter,' she said.

Jackie Stott's pale eyes opened wider. A low whistle escaped him. ‘Bolam's girl with Freddie Robson! Well, what d'yer know! I never thought he had it in him.'

‘Freddie – why not?' snapped Laura.

‘Because if Freddie's not a poof, I'm a monkey's uncle!'

Laura managed to resist the obvious retort to this, but snapped at him again. ‘That's all an act, you idiot. He's all there, is Freddie. That girl's been coming in for a month or more now. She's mad keen on Freddie – not on his guitar playing, either!'

Jackie grinned and rubbed his hands. ‘I don't know how, but this looks like a stick to beat Bolam with … any ideas, Thor?'

The tall Dane kept his impassive look firmly in place.

‘Not really – I can't see any need to beat the police at present. Apart from taking up a few minutes of our time, they haven't bothered us … we've nothing to hide, have we?'

The last words carried a subtle sarcasm, but they were lost on Jackie's insensitive ears.

A sudden thought struck him. ‘She's not a minor, is she? … for God's sake don't let Daddy find some excuse to fix us with his own daughter.' He looked a little wild-eyed for a moment. ‘Hey, perhaps he's planted her here for that – or some other bloody mischief.'

Laura looked at him as if he had just crawled from under a stone. ‘Relax. Your imagination is like some fifth-rate movie … she's over twenty-one, as it happens – a month or more past.'

Jackie scowled again. ‘How come you seem so well in with Bolam's family affairs? You think she's a rival for you over Freddie now?'

Laura almost spat in his face. ‘If you must know, Freddie told me that he met the Bolam girl at her twenty-first birthday party. Probably the one and only time he'll ever set foot in her old man's house!'

Stott made no reply, but stood up and brushed the cigar ash from the front of his well-filled suit.

‘Tell Freddie I want to see him in the office, Thor.'

He went out to the small room in the foyer and in a few moments, Freddie Robson came in rather nervously.

He was a pretty, fair-haired lad, slimly built and somewhat girlish-looking, but by no means deserved Jackie's label of ‘queer'. Twenty-six, single, and an indifferent musician, he was good enough for the quartet that provided the noise at the Rising Sun.

‘Sit down, Freddie. Let's have a few words.'

Jackie was full of false heartiness.

Freddie groped for a chair and promptly knocked it over. He picked it up and nervously sat down facing the boss.

‘Have a fag?' Jackie smoked small cigars, but always carried cigarettes to hand out.

Freddie extended a shaking hand and, in trying to get hold of one, knocked the whole packet on to the desk.

‘Take it easy, chum, I'm not going to bleeding eat you,' snapped Stott. ‘I want to know about your girlfriend.'

‘Betty?' Freddie asked, in surprise.

Jackie nodded. ‘You know she's a top copper's kid?'

The guitarist nodded spasmodically. ‘Yeah – I bin to their house once.'

‘First and last time, eh?'

‘Yus … her old man is all set to skin me alive if he can find an excuse. Hates me like poison.'

‘Why's that then?' asked Stott.

Freddie Robson shrugged his thin shoulders. ‘Dunno, really. Because I ain't a copper, because I ain't his type …'

‘And because you work for me in this club!' completed Jackie.

Freddie nodded. ‘That's about it, Mr Stott. He's as mad as hell. Just about busted up their home life, Betty says.'

Freddie doesn't seem too broken up about the prospect
, thought Jackie. ‘Where do you fit into this, lad – you go for her?'

Freddie shrugged again. ‘She's a good kid.'

‘What's that mean – you want to marry her or something?'

‘Hell no, I'm not the marrying kind. Lay 'em and leave 'em, that's me.'

Jackie Stott erupted into a great burst of laughter and slapped Freddie on the shoulder, almost breaking the delicate boy's arm. ‘Great, man … and have you?'

‘Have I what?'

‘Laid her, you nit!'

Freddie shook his head. ‘No … she's different from most. Part of the attraction. She's High School and got a strong daddy – all that crap. She wants to, but won't give in easy.' He looked reflectively at his shaking fingernails. ‘I'm in no hurry – once I make it, it'll be “cheerio” … know what I mean?'

Jackie beamed and gave Freddie a great man-of-the-world nod. ‘Look here, Freddie. Her old man is on my back over this club business. I want to get at him, so you pull out all the stops with his kid, right? Get her really on the boil, but don't actually do it until I say the word …
if
I say it.'

Freddie looked at his boss in surprise. ‘What's the idea … you want me to commit hara-kiri with her old man! I gotta box clever as it is or he'll murder me.'

Jackie raised his hand. ‘Leave it to Uncle Jackie, Freddie! Look, you can even suggest marrying her, if it helps … yeah, that's a good tack, that. Get her lined up for the ring and registrar.'

The guitarist goggled at him.

‘Marry her! Gawd, have a heart!'

Jackie waved his hand. ‘Don't worry, it'll never come off. I just want to be able to put the squeeze on her old man. You just lay on the bloody charm, Freddie. I'll make it worth your while, never fear.'

Freddie saw a glimmer of light and nodded dubiously. ‘Hope you will, Mr Stott. Getting foul of Alec Bolam is like sitting on a flaming landmine. I'm half scared to even pass a copper in the street these days, for fear he'll have me in the nick … 'specially over the little sideline I'm running.'

He stopped speaking suddenly, afraid that he might have said too much.

Jackie just grinned. ‘That's your business, laddie … though if I were you, I'd stick to Newcastle Brown Ale and women, and leave the other stuff alone.'

He jerked his head in dismissal and Freddie weaved his way out. Jackie wondered idly whether his guitar playing would be any better for a few puffs of a reefer now and then, instead of the pep pills.

Chapter Five

Looking back on the whole affair, Alec Bolam would have agreed that the next day of that week – the Wednesday – as when everything really began to get on the boil. At the time, however, the varied events of the day were just unconnected happenings.

Late in the afternoon, Bolam went along to see his chief superintendent on some routine matter. When this was dealt with, he stayed for a smoke and a chat. The head of Tyneside CID was a craggy Scotsman named MacDonald.