The Crooked Beat (17 page)

Thinking about myself, I wasn’t so sure I agreed with her. I asked her to tell me more about Andrew.

‘What do you want to know?’

‘Whatever you can tell me about him.’ She didn’t seem to know where to start. ‘When did he leave school?’ I asked, hoping to get her started.

I watched as she did the arithmetic in her head. ‘1976, a couple of years after his brother. He went to Trinity House. He passed all the entrance exams, so he was definitely brainy.’

I knew of the school. It was a boys-only nautical school in the city centre. The pupils wore navy-themed uniforms and caps. ‘He didn’t fancy going to sea when he left?’

‘It wasn’t for Andrew, either, but he never found a proper job. He did a bit of labouring here and there, but there wasn’t much going on in Hull back then. A bit like now, I suppose. I couldn’t stop him, but his brother got him involved with a bad group of people. As hard as I tried to stop it, they became his friends. He wouldn’t listen to me telling him that they were no good.’

It reminded me of Connor’s story. It was certainly enough to make me feel uncomfortable, though hopefully I was doing something to sort him out. ‘What happened to Andrew?’

‘The police got involved. Just a warning at first, but his dad wouldn’t do anything. I said he should give him a clip around the ear, but he wasn’t interested.’ She shrugged. ‘And things went from bad to worse.’

‘And then he disappeared?’

She nodded. ‘I went to the police.’

‘Don Ridley?’

‘He was very good to me. I liked Don. You could tell he was a good man.’

I was beginning to wonder how true that was, but she had my attention. ‘Can you tell me what happened?’

She sat back in her chair and stared, weighing me up. She’d probably been ignored and written off countless times. I held her stare, so she knew I was really listening.

‘1986,’ she eventually said. ‘That was when Andrew went missing. I remember sitting in the reception at Queens Gardens. Horrible place it was. It was Don who spoke to me.’

‘What did he say?’

‘Like you’d expect, he promised to look into it for me.’

‘What did he find out?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Nothing at all?’

‘He did his best. I know that. He spoke to people and stayed in touch with me, but I suppose he had other cases to deal with. He went the extra mile for me, so I can’t complain.’ She paused. ‘Is he dead?’

I told her Don was absolutely fine.

‘Why don’t you talk to him, then? He’ll be able to tell you more.’

‘I will do, don’t worry about that.’

‘Doubt he’ll even remember Andrew these days,’ she said.

‘Is there anyone I can talk to? Anyone who might be able to tell me more about what happened?’

She thought about my question. ‘I know Don spoke to one of Andrew’s friends on a few occasions.’

‘Have you got his name?’

She shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘It might help.’

‘He died in a car crash years ago.’

I finished my coffee. It was another dead end, another thread I couldn’t unpick.

‘He came to the house, you know,’ she said.

‘Who did?’

‘His workmate, if that’s what you’d call him. He came round with some money.’ She paused. ‘What was he called?’ she said to herself. She tapped the arm of her chair with satisfaction. ‘It was a man called Alan. Alan Palmer.’

I kept my face neutral, but I felt something click into place. Alan Palmer meant Frank Salford and George Sutherland. The link Coleman had given me pointed to Sutherland. I couldn’t overlook the fact he was working a live case. Everything seemed to be narrowing. ‘Did you tell Don about this?’

‘He said he’d speak with Alan Palmer about it.’

‘What happened?’

‘I don’t think anything happened. He certainly never told me about any developments.’ She picked up the card I’d left during my last visit and looked at it. ‘Can you help find out what happened to my son?’

Without thinking, I found myself nodding. ‘I’ll try my best.’

I left Bancroft’s mother and returned to my car. I couldn’t believe I’d made such a rash promise to her. I pushed the thought to one side for now. I needed to speak to Sarah and keep her up to speed. The night was drawing in and I’d spent the day running around without giving her a second thought.

I headed straight to her house. She was surprised to see me, but invited me in. ‘Where’s Lauren?’ I said.

‘Upstairs asleep. Be quiet.’

I walked through to the kitchen and sat down at the table. Sarah put the kettle on and made the drinks. ‘How’s Niall?’ I asked.

She sat down opposite me. ‘Still pissed off. You should have told him, Joe.’

I still couldn’t believe that would have been the best course of action. ‘He’s a kid,’ I said. ‘He took the beating, but the message was for me.’ We lapsed into silence. I broke it by telling her Connor was staying at my flat for a bit. ‘That way I can keep an eye on him. He needs my help.’

She nodded. ‘You have to look after your own first.’

I winced at the barb, but was surprised by her attitude. I was expecting a bit more understanding, but I knew she had her own problems to think about. It wasn’t a massive leap to see the situation through her eyes. I looked at her and thought about Don’s affair with Kath Millfield. I could see how worried she was about him. Worse than that, I could see that I hadn’t given her the help she’d expected. I knew she wasn’t being heartless. It was me. I changed the subject. ‘I found Andrew Bancroft’s brother,’ I said.

‘You didn’t say you knew he had one.’

‘Coleman told me.’

‘Why didn’t you let me know?’

I was about to explain, but she waved my explanation away.

‘What did you find out?’ she said.

‘Andrew Bancroft’s been missing for almost thirty years.’

‘What does missing mean?’

‘He worked for Frank Salford.’ I didn’t need to say any more. What I didn’t know was how Don fitted in, but there was something there to be found. ‘It’s all speculation and guesswork,’ I said. ‘Especially if your dad won’t talk about it.’

‘But he’s involved somewhere.’

It was a statement rather than a question. ‘It seems likely.’

She softened. ‘I’m worried about him, Joe.’

I didn’t know what to say to that. There was nothing I could say that would make it sound any better.

‘Tell me what’s going on, Joe.’

‘I just did.’

Sarah walked across the room. ‘The truth,’ she said. ‘What’s going on with my dad? I know he’s in trouble and I know the two of you aren’t telling me everything.’

Over the years we’d become close friends, even if nothing else was going to happen between us. She knew me better than I knew myself. Yet I was still prepared to lie to her. Or at least shield her from the truth as best I could. ‘I’m still trying to put it together.’ It only felt like a small lie.

‘You can do better than that, Joe.’

She was right. It was no answer. I was making excuses for Don, but it wasn’t my place to tell her what I knew. I stood, ready to go. ‘You need to speak to your dad.’

It felt like I had a jigsaw puzzle in front of me, but none of the pieces would fit into the right place. I watched from the pavement as Sarah closed her curtains. It felt like I’d let her down. It broke my heart to admit it, but I had to put it to one side, even if it had cost me the one person willing to help. I took my mobile out and called Coleman again. He answered quickly. ‘We need to talk,’ I said. ‘The old office in about twenty minutes?’ It was the first place I’d thought of.

I parked my car next to Holy Trinity and walked the short distance to the office. Coleman was waiting outside for me. He put his mobile back in his pocket as he saw me approach. ‘Just about to ring you.’

I walked straight past him and unlocked. He followed me in. I flicked the light switch on.

‘Someone’s been busy,’ Coleman said, as he looked around the empty room.

There were no chairs left. It was empty. I settled for leaning against the window with my hands in my pocket, ignoring his remark.

‘What’s the plan, then, Joe? Set up and go it alone? Isn’t that how you Private Investigators should operate? Lone wolves?’

‘We’ll see.’ I told him about Niall’s bar and that I couldn’t see myself doing the same. Sinking my money into a new business like that wasn’t me. Maybe Coleman was on the right track. This was what I did. This kind of thing was me. ‘They were taking the piss at Queens Gardens when I asked to speak to you.’

Coleman continued to pace the room. ‘On the desk?’

‘Asked if we’d had a lovers tiff.’

Coleman smiled. ‘Fuck them.’

‘Pretty much what I thought.’ I told him I’d spoken with Gary Bancroft.

‘Good.’

‘I tracked him down to a pub on Wincolmlee. He seems to be one of life’s drinkers.’ Coleman was giving nothing away, so I continued. ‘I know his brother hasn’t been seen for pretty much thirty years.’ He was still giving me nothing. ‘I spoke to his mum about it. Poor woman’s still in pieces.’

Coleman stopped pacing the room. ‘What else?’

It was as if I had to give him the golden piece of information, the one thing which would trigger him into giving me something back. I took a deep breath and controlled myself. Losing patience wouldn’t do me any good. ‘I know Don was involved in the investigation to find Andrew Bancroft, and by all accounts he took it a lot more seriously than his colleagues.’

‘But he didn’t get very far?’

‘Don certainly won’t speak about it, but I know Andrew Bancroft was working for Frank Salford.’

‘Correct.’

I pushed myself upright and walked across to Coleman. ‘Cards on the table?’

Coleman agreed. ‘Cards on the table.’

‘I’ve got a problem with George Sutherland.’

‘Doesn’t surprise me, Joe.’

He could see I was surprised by that. He held his hands up. ‘A lot of people have a problem with Sutherland. Want to tell me about it?’

I shook my head. ‘Not really.’

‘I’ll buy you a drink,’ he said. ‘But let’s do it somewhere more comfortable.’

We walked across Lowgate to Silver Street and headed in the direction of Ye Olde White Harte. Coleman bought the drinks and we found a quiet corner. The pub was famous for being the place in 1642 where it was resolved that the King wouldn’t be allowed access to the city, triggering the English Civil War. Tonight wasn’t going to be quite so momentous, but it felt like an appropriate place to be sitting. I didn’t touch my drink. I wanted to hear what he had to say.

Coleman picked his drink up and drank a mouthful. He didn’t take his eyes off me. I waited it out. He put his drink down. ‘Can I trust you, Joe?’

I had no idea what the right answer to the question was. We did different jobs and often we were on different sides of the line. I wasn’t going to forget that. ‘You’re going to have to spit out whatever’s on your mind.’

‘I’ve been speaking to Dave Johnson,’ he said.

It felt like the room had started to spin. My stomach lurched. It was a name I never wanted to hear again.

‘He wants out of prison,’ Coleman said. ‘He’s realised that as things stand, he’s going to die behind bars.’

‘Good.’ Dave Johnson had been Frank Salford’s right-hand man. Salford had died, but Johnson hadn’t been so lucky. Although Dave Johnson wasn’t the man who’d set fire to the house my wife had died in, it had been done on his orders, and that made him responsible in my eyes. I took a moment to compose myself.

Coleman took another mouthful of his drink. ‘I know it’s hard for you.’

I leaned forwards. ‘You know it’s hard for me? Are you taking the piss?’

Coleman shook his head. ‘I’m not taking the piss.’

I looked down at my drink. He’d bought me a coke. ‘I need a proper drink.’ The car could stay where it was. I needed to buy myself some time to think. I returned from the bar and sat back down. ‘Why are you doing this?’

‘Johnson contacted me. He thinks he’s got information I might be interested in.’

‘Only thinks?’

‘More a hint of information to come.’

‘And you’ve brought me out here to tell me that?’

‘It’s a difficult situation to handle.’

I’d heard enough. I stood up, ready to leave. ‘You can fuck off.’

‘Sit down, Joe.’

I headed for the exit. Coleman followed me. I headed through the alleyway and back to Silver Street. I walked towards Whitefriargate, heading in the direction of the Market Square and Holy Trinity. I was on autopilot. Coleman matched my stride. He grabbed my arm and told me calm down. I spun round and forced him against the doors of the indoor market. ‘Don’t tell me what to do.’ The heavy doors rattled as he struggled until I released my grip. We were toe to toe, staring at each other.

It was Coleman who spoke first. He was perfectly calm. ‘Johnson won’t talk until there’s a deal on the table.’

I shook my head and continued to walk. Coleman wouldn’t leave it and was again by my side. I stopped and turned to face him. ‘What is on the table, out of interest?’

‘That depends if the information he’s giving me is any good.’

‘Why does that concern me?’

‘It’s not official yet.’

‘Fuck’s sake.’ I walked over to the benches in front of the church and sat down. Coleman followed and did the same. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Neither of us spoke for a moment.

‘I need someone to check his story out,’ Coleman eventually said.

‘No chance.’

‘Hear me out, Joe.’

I assumed my world was about to get an awful lot worse.

‘Andrew Bancroft,’ Coleman said. ‘Johnson gave me his name.’

‘What about him?’

‘Johnson won’t say specifically. He mentioned George Sutherland. He was involved, too.’

‘For definite?’

‘Stands to reason given the Salford link. I know it’s not easy for you, Joe, but have a think about it.’ Coleman stood up and looked down at me. ‘I’ll be talking to Johnson tomorrow. If you want, you can come along and see what he has to say.’

I watched Coleman walk away from me. It was a big ask. I paced around, angry with Coleman for bringing it all back. I knew the feeling of loss had never left me and never would, but knowing Johnson was behind bars and Salford was dead gave me some measure of satisfaction. I found myself walking up to the doors of the church. I had no idea why. I certainly wasn’t a religious man. The church was lit up by a series of lights around the courtyard. I could only stare in awe at the building, like with the Humber Bridge, even though they couldn’t be more different structures. The spell was broken by the sound of a drunk being sick on the street corner. His mates cheered him on. I walked back to the benches, sat down and tried to make a decision.