The Crooked Beat (18 page)

The deal on the table from Coleman was clear. He was offering me a line into George Sutherland. I watched as the man who’d been sick was carried away by his mates. He’d have a hangover in the morning, but nothing more serious. My problems weren’t so easily resolved. I had no better plan for removing Sutherland.

The bench was cold and uncomfortable, but I wasn’t ready to move. I was pretty sure I had a handle on Coleman’s motives. He was yet to be confirmed as a DI, so he was no doubt looking for a final push over the line, the one case that could confirm his promotion. It appeared he was talking to Johnson off the record, and it made sense that Johnson had some serious stories to tell. But even a careerist like Coleman wouldn’t risk turning a man like Johnson free unless there was something there. Maybe I was being used. Maybe this was Coleman’s way of proving he had some worth after his wife had left him and it would be a pointless exercise. The ultimate irony of the situation was that to help my brother and Don, I had to help the man who was responsible for my wife’s death.

Connor was waiting for me in my flat, drinking a bottle of beer and looking sorry for himself. At least he’d done as he was told and stayed in.

He looked up at me. ‘How’s it going?’

I took my coat off and threw it in the corner. ‘Get me a beer, please.’

Connor went to the fridge and passed me one over. I opened it and drank from the bottle. I walked over to the front window and stared out on to the street. My reflection in the glass stared back at me. I turned away and sat down.

‘Are you hungry?’ Connor asked me. ‘I was about to order a takeaway.’

I shook my head. ‘Not especially.’

He ordered food and we both sat down in silence. I watched him fidget with his mobile. ‘What’s on your mind?’

‘I was curious, really,’ he said.

‘What about?’

‘Did you get on with your dad?’

There was a question. I thought about it before answering. ‘Maybe not as well as I should have.’

‘Didn’t the rugby make it easier?’

‘Rugby was the problem.’

‘You wanted to be like him?’

I shook my head. ‘Not really. All I wanted was to play, but he knew what a toll it took on your body and how hard it was to combine it with a proper job. He didn’t want me following him down the same road. He wanted better for me, but I couldn’t see it at the time.’

Connor smiled and took a drag on his bottle of beer. ‘Sounds familiar. Did you fall out with him?’

‘A little bit, I suppose.’

‘After the injury?’

What he was really asking me was what happened after I’d failed, after my dad had been proved right. I wasn’t going to lie. ‘We argued,’ I said. ‘I worked in his pub for a bit, but it wasn’t for me. I couldn’t handle people coming in on their way to the match, reminiscing about the good old days with him. All that stuff. It brought back bad memories, and to be totally honest, it was starting to make me bitter.’

‘How did you patch it up, then?’

I turned to face Connor. I wanted to make sure he got the message loud and clear. ‘We never really patched it up all that well. That’s my biggest regret.’

Connor nodded, like he understood. ‘So how do you go about patching things up?’

I offered my bottle up for a toast. ‘That’s the question you’ve got to figure out an answer to. The only way you can convince your dad about the night club stuff is to go out and make it work. Make it a success. Prove to him that it can be done.’

The buzzer to my flat interrupted us.

‘The food.’ Connor said.

‘I’ll get it.’ I walked down the stairs and opened the front door to the delivery driver. George Sutherland threw a bag of hot food at me.

‘Bumped into the guy at your door. Thought I’d save him the trouble.’ He pointed to his car. ‘Get in.’

Carl Palmer stood behind him, smiling at me. I weighed up the situation. The odds were stacked against me and Connor was upstairs. I didn’t want him involved. I followed Sutherland and Palmer out of the building. Palmer drove with Sutherland next to me in the back.

‘I was up your end of town,’ Sutherland said. ‘I thought we’d go for a drive.’

The journey passed in silence until Palmer pulled up down North Road and stopped outside what had once been the South Stand entrance to Boothferry Park, former home of Hull City AFC. It was now a building site.

Sutherland stared out of the window at the construction work. ‘It’s a fucking disgrace. I had some of the best days of my life here. Now it’s going to be fucking houses.’

I didn’t say anything. Like with the rugby, time moves on. He continued talking, like I was his mate. I didn’t like it.

‘I remember when Chelsea played here in the Cup, back when it meant something. Me and Frank on the rampage down in London for the first time, even though we were only teenagers. Great day. Two goals for Waggy, as per fucking usual. Showed them cunts how it’s done. Shame we didn’t finish the job when we got back here, though.’

‘Not really my game,’ I told him.

‘I forgot you were an egg-chaser.’

‘My dad went to both games.’

Sutherland shuffled around in his seat to stare at me. ‘I thought he was a rugby man, too?’

‘It was a big match.’

Sutherland opened the door and got out. ‘Take a walk with me. My mate’s the site foreman. I’ve borrowed the key off him.’

Palmer was smiling at me though the rear view mirror. I got out and followed Sutherland. He was already opening up the gate to the site. An icy wind blew around the open spaces of the building site, cutting straight through me. Sutherland beckoned me forward. Palmer had locked the car and was standing behind me. No one else was around. I did as I was told and walked into the building site. My shoes sunk down in the mud. Sutherland shouted at me to keep up. Palmer had closed the gate behind us. It was dark, but my eyes slowly adjusted and I followed Sutherland out into the site, leaving the completed houses behind. He came to a stop in the middle of some new plots.

‘Just digging the foundations,’ he said. ‘Funny how weird places like this are when the machines are switched off and no one’s around.’ He pointed to the plot we were standing next to. ‘Amazing how deep they are these days.’

He was fucking with me and I wasn’t in the mood. ‘What’s your point?’

He took an envelope out of his pocket. ‘Have a look.’

I took it from him. Inside was a printout with details of the overnight Hull to Zeebrugge ferry.

‘Cat got your tongue, Geraghty? You’ve had your chance to put the situation right and you haven’t done it, so here’s what’s going to happen. You and that brother of yours are going across to pick up some more cigarettes for me. You’re going to drive a van over, load it up and drive it back again.’

I said nothing. If it went wrong, it meant serious prison time. Sutherland was an idiot, but I didn’t have a better plan.

‘What precautions have you taken?’

He laughed. ‘I’ve got you driving the van.’

‘You got the last lot through. You don’t need me.’

Sutherland ignored my protests. ‘You’re doing it. I’ll be having a word with Peter Hill. That cunt owes me, too.'

Sutherland was desperate if he was prepared to go over with effectively no insurance policy. We were going to be winging it. He plan was madness. ‘I’m not doing it.’

Palmer and Sutherland both took a step towards me. ‘Give me my money, then,’ Sutherland said.

He knew I didn’t have it. I held his stare before eventually conceding with a nod.

Sutherland smiled. ‘We’ll be in touch, then.’

I was left to walk back to my flat. Connor was sitting in the living room.

‘Where did you go?’ he said.

‘George Sutherland wanted a word.’

He stood up and walked around the room, clearly scared by what had happened. I took the bottle of beer he was drinking from and swallowed a mouthful. ‘Don’t worry about it. It’s going to get sorted.’

He sat back down, but didn’t speak. I told him he should go to his girlfriend’s house if he wanted. He was glad to get away. I stared at the printout Sutherland had given me before putting it to one side. I hadn’t been on a ferry for years. I had no idea how stringent the security was. I had no idea what would be waiting in Belgium. I switched the lights off and sat in the darkened room and came to a decision. I took my mobile out of my pocket and sent a text message to Coleman. I had no intention of getting on a ferry to collect cigarettes on Sutherland’s behalf. Whatever Coleman’s plan involved, I was in.

Don Ridley walked into Queens Gardens Police Station. The mother of the Bancroft brothers was waiting for him. He asked what he could do for her.

She stood up. ‘I need to report my son missing.’

‘Which one?’

‘Andrew.’

Ridley nodded and led her out towards Queens Gardens, found an empty bench and sat down. ‘Shall we start at the beginning before we go back in there and make it official? How long’s he been missing for?’

‘Two days now.’

‘Have you spoken to his friends?’

‘All of them. No one’s heard from him.’

‘What about your Gary? What does he have to say?’

‘I don’t see much of him. He took a job somewhere in the Midlands. Just went off one day. One of his friends fixed it up for him. He sends cards.’ She lit a cigarette. ‘It’s not asking a lot to expect a call every now and again, is it?’

‘I suppose not. Do you think Andrew’s taken himself off for a break?’

‘He told me he was skint. Spent it all on that girlfriend of his.’ She looked at Ridley and blew smoke in his direction. ‘He left his toothbrush. If you’re going away, you don’t leave your toothbrush behind, do you?’

Ridley agreed that it wasn’t rational behaviour. ‘I thought he was working for Frank Salford?’ She took a drag on her cigarette but didn’t answer. ‘It was an observation,’ Ridley said. ‘That’s all.’

She ground her cigarette out on the bench arm. ‘He told me it was quiet, but he had something on the go.’

‘What did he have on the go?’

‘He didn’t say.’

‘Didn’t you ask?’

‘It’s his business, not mine.’

It was fair enough. They both knew what her son was. He didn’t need her to say any more.

Ridley walked upstairs to the CID office, nodding greetings to the people he knew. The board at the front of the room contained details of a murder enquiry. On it were photographs of the victim. The one to the left had been taken with his family during a caravan holiday. The one to the right had been taken of him following his death. The man had suffered a violent assault before his death. Notes were stuck to the board, mainly details of known movements and associates.

Holborn’s space was marked out with partition walls. He walked over to where Ridley was standing. He pointed to the photographs with his mug of tea. ‘It happens to scum. You should know that. A lucky find really. A dog walker in the area had spotted the body. Whoever slung him out with the rubbish hadn’t even been bothered enough to do it properly.’

‘Where?’

‘Don’t be concerning yourself with big boys’ work, Don.’

Ridley walked towards Holborn’s office. ‘I want a word.’

Holborn followed him in. ‘Watch the game last night?’

‘Can’t say I did.’

‘Load of shit, really. I don’t know if I hate that cunt Maradona more for cheating or that cunt Shilton for not stopping it.’

Ridley ignored the football talk and got down to the reason he was there. ‘Andrew Bancroft is missing.’

Holborn sat down and smiled. ‘And why should I give a shit about that?’

‘Given that he works for your mate, Salford, I thought you might be concerned?’

‘Close the door.’

Ridley did as he was told and sat down. He looked at the photograph of Holborn with his wife and son on his desk. It had been taken in London, next to Big Ben.

‘Spit it out, Don.’

Ridley leaned in closer. ‘What do you know about Bancroft’s disappearance?’

‘Why would I know anything about it?’

‘Because he was working for Frank Salford.’

Holborn picked up his mug of tea. ‘I repeat, Don. So what?’

‘You’re in Salford’s pocket.’

Holborn stared hard at him. ‘Say that again?’

‘You heard me the first time.’

‘I suggest you think very carefully about that type of accusation, Don. Saying things like that could get you into a lot of trouble with the wrong type of people.’

‘Like who?’

Holborn shrugged. ‘I’m not best pleased with it for a start.’

‘No?’

‘Not in the slightest.’

‘Bancroft’s mother isn’t going to let this go.’

‘A grown man goes missing? Why would we give a shit? Happens every day.’ Holborn smiled. ‘It’s been nice catching up, Don, but here’s a word to the wise. Keep the fuck out of my way, alright?’

Ridley readied himself to leave. ‘I’ll be looking for Andrew Bancroft.’

‘And I wish you the best of luck with that, Don, I really do, but I don’t think you’re in any position to take the moral high-ground with me. I know you, Don, and I know what you are.’ Holborn walked to the door and opened it. ‘Andrew Bancroft was scum. He won’t be missed. Do yourself a favour and take the hint. Fuck off out of here and let it go.’

I woke up on my settee. I was firmly back in the habit of sleeping in the living room, worrying about my problems. And seeing as I was sleeping on what was effectively Connor’s bed, it was clear he’d spent the night at his girlfriend’s. I eased myself up and stretched. I could already feel the effect of the night on my back. I slowly moved into the kitchen and poured myself a glass of water. Things were going from bad to worse with George Sutherland. And today was going to rake up things which I didn’t really want to think about. I had no choice, though. Coleman had sent me a text message. He’d arranged for us to speak with Dave Johnson at eleven o’clock. HMP Hull Prison. I felt sick at the thought.