The Crooked Beat (20 page)

‘Like I said, Joe’s going to look into what you tell us,’ Coleman said.

Johnson nodded. ‘Fair enough.’

‘What happened to Andrew Bancroft?’ I asked him.

Johnson shrugged. ‘Any number of things could have happened to him, I suppose. He could have been given some money and told to leave town? Sounds plausible to me.’

‘Or he could have been killed?’

‘He could have been.’ He stared at me. ‘Can’t trust the police and their investigations, can you? Plenty of corruption about, isn’t there? Always has been.’

He was pressing my buttons. It was obvious I was meant to infer something from his comment.

Coleman ignored it and leaned in to show him who was in charge. ‘Let’s work on the assumption Bancroft was killed, then. What did he do to deserve it?’

Johnson shrugged, but didn’t answer the question.

Coleman sighed. ‘I assume other people are involved in this, some of them still alive?’

Johnson nodded. ‘Sounds likely.’

‘Who?’

A smile broke across his face. ‘I’m not giving you names.’ He stared at me. ‘Not yet, but I reckon I can help with your problem.’

‘Sutherland was definitely involved?’ I said.

Johnson confirmed that he was.

‘In what way?’

Johnson smiled, but said nothing.

‘You’ve got to see it from our point of view,’ Coleman said. ‘If you can’t give us anything, how can you expect us to help?'

This time Johnson smiled again. ‘I’ve definitely got something for you.’

‘What?’

‘I know where Andrew Bancroft’s wallet is.’

Johnson was taken back to his cell and we left the prison. I was glad to breathe in the fresh air, even if it was polluted by the fumes of the lorries thundering past. Meeting Johnson hadn’t been as bad as I feared. It was the fact my assistance might get him out of prison early that weighed heavily on me. The past or the future? Debbie or Niall and Connor? It was my decision to make. Either way, I knew Johnson couldn’t hurt me now, and that was something to take away.

Coleman took a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket and lit one up.

I stared at him. ‘Since when did you smoke?’

He took a long drag on it and shrugged.

‘Fancy a drink?’ I said. We had things to discuss.

‘Around here?’

‘I know a place.’

Like on my previous visits, Sutherland’s pub wasn’t busy. No wonder he was exploring other avenues to make some money. I could only see one drinker in the place. He was sitting at the bar, nursing a pint of lager. My favourite barmaid was back on duty.

I smiled as I got her attention. ‘Two orange juices, please.’

Her eyes narrowed as she looked at Coleman. She had him marked down immediately for what he was. Coleman sat down as I waited for the drinks. She poured them and took my money. As I walked away, she picked up the telephone. I knew who she was calling.

I took the drinks across to the table. I made sure we could both keep an eye on the bar, just in case of any surprises. Coleman hadn’t put up any argument when I said we should come here. He knew it was all about notching up the pressure on people like Sutherland, letting them know you were watching. That was when they eventually cracked and did something stupid.

I took a mouthful of my drink and spoke. ‘Do you believe what Johnson’s saying?’

He rubbed his face. ‘I don’t know, but it still needs checking.’

‘We know he was never happy being Salford’s right-hand man.’

‘You think he’s bullshitting?’

I shrugged and asked the question which had been nagging away at me. ‘Why is he speaking to you now? What’s changed?’

Coleman repeated what he’d told me before. ‘He doesn’t want to die behind bars. He’s not stupid. He’ll know what’s going on out here. If he thinks he can use it to his advantage, he will.’

I agreed, unable to think of a more compelling reason. ‘What do you think about the corruption he hinted at?’

Coleman shrugged. ‘Not an easy one to prove.’

I had to agree. ‘Where are you at with Holborn’s death?’

‘It was an accident.’

‘That’s the official line?’

‘For now.’

His neighbour had told me Holborn was infirm. It wasn’t hard to image someone else starting the fire and leaving. It was certainly a possibility. ‘I spoke to his son last night. He was at pains to tell me what a great man his father had been. I’m sure he’ll be speaking to you shortly.’ I smiled. ‘He didn’t like the tone of my voice.’

‘I look forward to it.’

‘He’s a barrister in London.’

Coleman laughed. ‘Perfect.’

Carl Palmer appeared and stared at us from behind the bar. I was pleased our presence bothered him so much. I thought about Johnson’s suggestion he knew where Andrew Bancroft’s wallet was. The implication was if Bancroft had simply left Hull, be it of his own free will or otherwise, he would have taken his wallet with him.

I asked Coleman about it. ‘What did you make of what Johnson said? Could be a lie. It could be an old wallet.’

‘Easily checked, though.’

‘But it implicates Johnson in a potential murder?’

Coleman shook his head. ‘Any number of ways out of it.’ He turned to look at me. ‘Especially if he’s assisting with inquiries.’

And that was the truth of the matter. Politics always won the day.

Coleman continued. ‘He’s got nothing to lose, has he? If he does nothing, he’s staying where he is with no chance of getting out.’

He wasn’t wrong. The wallet was Johnson’s insurance policy. He’d been holding on to it until the time was right. It was obviously meant to implicate Frank Salford, but he was dead. It had to implicate others, and that meant George Sutherland. Coleman didn’t need to say this was all being done off the record. Johnson had told us where the wallet was being kept. It was down to me to retrieve it.

Carl Palmer blew me a kiss as we left the pub. Coleman offered to drop me off back at Niall’s bar so I could collect my car. We spoke more about Johnson on the way, but it was academic. Nothing could happen until I’d collected the wallet. That would dictate the next move. I didn’t go into the bar. I collected my car and headed for the city centre. I had something I needed to do. I needed some time to think about the deal with Johnson before making any decisions. A meter was free next to the BBC building on the edge of Queens Gardens. I walked to Queen Victoria Square. In front of me, the City Hall stood proudly. Behind me was the Maritime Museum. Benches ran around its perimeter. Rather than being taken by shoppers, they were home to a collection of tramps. Some were drinking discreetly, all of them peacefully watching the world go by.

I headed across to the nearest bench and spoke to the two men sitting there. I told them I was looking for Alan Palmer. One of them pointed to a man sitting by himself on the next bench. I thanked them and made my way over and sat down. Alan Palmer didn’t acknowledge me. We watched in silence as shoppers hurried by. Like Johnson, Palmer was around sixty years of age, but he definitely hadn’t been keeping himself in such good shape.

I told him who I was and handed over a card. ‘I was hoping for a word,’ I said.

He didn’t look at me, but eventually nodded. ‘How did you find me?’

‘Your lad told me about you.’

‘Haven’t seen him in months.’

‘Ironic that he works for George Sutherland, though.’

‘We all make choices. I decided to kick the booze at long last.’

I nodded. ‘Fair play to you.’

‘Problem is, it makes you remember the things you’ve done.’ He shuffled on the bench, but still didn’t look at me. ‘I don’t know who you are, but I know why you’re here.’

I asked him how he knew what I wanted.

‘There’s always a price to pay. I spend every day sat here. I’m not hard to find if you’re looking for me. That’s how Gary Bancroft found me.’

It confirmed a few things for me. Plenty of people were now running scared. It seemed to me that Palmer had spent long enough running away from things. ‘What did Bancroft want?’ I asked.

‘My silence.’

‘Why would he want that?’

‘Because I was ordered to pay his family off all those years ago.’

His brother’s disappearance. ‘On Frank Salford’s orders?’

‘You’re well informed.’

‘What happened to Andrew Bancroft?’

‘I don’t want to tell you that at the moment.’

There was nothing I could say to that. I was relying on his goodwill, even if it was pretty obvious to me what had happened. I shuffled forwards again. ‘What did Andrew Bancroft do for Salford?’

‘He was a dogsbody. Run of the mill muscle. Someone like George Sutherland would go out on his rounds to collect protection money, so Bancroft would often be sent as back-up. Nothing major. Just shops and pubs. The low level stuff, nothing which required a brain.’

I decided to take a chance. ‘Do you remember a policeman called Reg Holborn?’

Palmer was still refusing to look at me. He nodded, though. ‘He was always around. He was friendly with Frank.’ He paused. ‘Boxing clubs,’ he eventually said. ‘The ones kids go to.’

‘Was he corrupt?’ I asked.

I was sure I saw a smile start to form on the side of Palmer’s mouth. ‘He had a strange taste in friends for someone in his job.’

I knew I had to weigh that up against the fact times were different. Things were done differently. I let it go, knowing if I pressed Palmer, he might walk away and disappear.

He finally looked at me. ‘I’m not proud of the life I’ve led, but it was a living. If there has to be a reckoning, then so be it.’

‘Where will you be if I need to speak to you again?’

‘I’m always here. The council are about to kick me out of my flat, so I’ve got nowhere else to go. If I have a good day and make some money, I’ll have an orange juice in the Old Town pubs later on. I’m not going anywhere else. You seem like a clever bloke to me. You’ll be able to find me if we need to talk more.’

The address I’d been given to collect the wallet from was in Withernsea, a small seaside town east of the city. I’d returned to my car and stared at the address. I drove past the prison and the docks before BP Saltend signalled the end of the city and the start of the quieter country roads of Holderness. I drove through the isolated villages of Thorngumbald, Keyingham and Patrington. I was on auto-pilot, as I knew the route well. If Scarborough was the jewel in the crown of East Yorkshire’s coastline, time had forgotten Withernsea. Even as a child, I could tell it was a dying resort. The train link to Hull had long gone, cutting the place off. I drove past the new Tesco store, the only sign of progress I could see, and on to the seafront. The beach was quiet, only a handful of dog owners exercising their animals. The town centre loop took me down Queen Street. It was mainly takeaways, charity shops and empty units. I checked for the address I needed. Johnson was a man who had enemies, and given what I knew about Salford not being a good payer, this town was perfect. It was relatively isolated and comparatively cheap.

I counted the houses off until I found Johnson’s. I stared at it for a moment before getting out of my car. It was like any other on the street. Rather than having front gardens, the properties came with small walled off concrete yards which led directly to the pavement. There wasn’t much room for anything other than the householder’s dustbins. I knocked on the door and waited. A woman who I assumed was Johnson’s wife answered. I didn’t know her name. She was smoking a cigarette and wore a care home uniform.

She took a drag on her cigarette before speaking. ‘If you’re a Jehovah’s Witness, you can fuck off.’

I shook my head and started to speak.

She interrupted me. ‘Geraghty, is it?’

‘That’s right.’

She closed the door on me, leaving me standing outside. I took a step back. She saved me from knocking again when she opened the door and passed me a jiffy bag. ‘That’s what you came for.’

I sat in my car and stared at the jiffy bag I’d been given. I decided I wasn’t going to open it. I had no idea if the wallet had any forensic value, but I certainly didn’t want my own fingerprints on it. I tried calling Coleman, but he didn’t answer. I didn’t leave a message. I took one last look at the package and placed it on the floor before deciding to visit Gerard Branning again. I now had something to talk to him about. I was sure he’d know about Andrew Bancroft.

The care worker shook her head and put her arm across the door. ‘I’m afraid Gerard still isn’t receiving visitors.’

I’d anticipated hearing I wasn’t welcome. ‘If you could tell him I’ve come with news of our mutual friend, Andrew Bancroft.’ I put on my best smile. ‘He’ll really want to hear the news.’ She seemed uncertain. I told her I’d wait while she went to check with him. I sat down on the only chair in the reception area. She eventually relented and said she wouldn’t be long.

I only had a short wait before I was ushered through to the day room. Gerard Branning sat in the far corner, away from the other residents.

‘I’ll leave you to it,’ the care worker said, before turning to Branning. ‘Shout if you need anything, Gerard.’

She stared at me as she left. I took a chair from the table and carried it over so I could sit next to Branning. A solitary old lady was sitting nearby, talking to herself.

‘Ignore her,’ he said. ‘She’s harmless.’

I sat down. He was looking a little better, like the recuperation time was doing him good.

‘I knew you’d be back,’ he said.

‘Why wouldn’t you talk to me before?’

‘Coleman asked me not to.’

I smiled. ‘Always loyal?’

‘Always.’

I could understand his attitude. He owed me nothing. I leaned in closer to him. ‘Who’s Andrew Bancroft?’

‘I thought you’d have figured that one out for yourself by now.’

‘Not quite,’ I confessed. ‘I’m here for your help.’ I explained that George Sutherland was the key. I knew Branning had tried and failed to bring down Frank Salford over the years. I hoped he’d see this as his chance to do that, even if it was by proxy. I was appealing to his vanity. I told him I needed to know about Reg Holborn. ‘I don’t believe in coincidences any more than you do. I can’t buy the fact all this is happening and Holborn, a non-smoker, dies in a house fire started by a dropped cigarette.’