The Crooked Beat (23 page)

I picked up the photograph and nodded. Thirty years younger, but I recognised the face staring back at me.

I knocked loudly on Don’s front door. The curtains were drawn in the living room, but I could see light shining out at the top of them. I knocked again before bending down to open the letterbox.

‘I know you’re in there,’ I shouted. I glanced down the hallway, but there was no movement. I shouted again. ‘I know, Don. I know about Rebecca Millfield. I know she’s your daughter.’

I took a step back and looked around. The neighbours’ cars were parked up for the night. A cat walked slowly across the road. It stopped halfway and turned back to stare at me. The spell was broken by Don opening his front door. I followed him into the house.

‘Wait in the living room,’ he said.

I did as I was told. He’d reframed the family photographs on the mantelpiece, but I couldn’t look at them. It was too much. Don walked into the room. He had a bottle of whiskey and two glasses with him. I told him I wasn’t here for a drink. He shrugged and poured himself a generous measure.

I waited. It had taken countless questions, beatings and his house being violated to get us to this point. It was as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

‘Does Sarah have any idea?’ I asked him.

‘Of course not.’

‘Want to tell me about it?’

‘Seems like you already know.’

‘Only what Roger Millfield told me.’

‘There’s probably not much more to tell.’ He poured himself another drink. ‘It’s like I told you before. I had an affair with Kath. That was it. She had Rebecca and I didn’t think anything of it until she turned up drunk one night. Lucky I was home alone. She told me how she couldn’t live a lie any longer. She said I had a right to know I had a daughter. The next day, she changed her tune. I wasn’t to tell anyone. I wasn’t to mention it ever again. She didn’t need me or my money. Rebecca was Roger’s daughter and that was it. End of discussion.’

I let that sink in. I’d seen Rebecca Millfield’s photograph on her father’s desk. She was going to be following in his footsteps in the accountancy practice. ‘Did you have a test?’ I asked.

‘Never going to happen.’ He shrugged. ‘I didn’t need one to know the truth. I just knew I was her father.’

‘And you followed Kath’s demands?’

‘To the letter. I’ve never said a word about it. I decided to live with the situation and keep my distance. I’ve got Sarah. She’s all I need.’

‘Kath Millfield told Sutherland, though.’

‘I know she did.’

Rebecca was in her mid-twenties now, so Sutherland had held back the information for long enough, just waiting to use it. The time was now right for him. He was far more desperate than I imagined.

‘Sutherland’s getting nothing from me,’ Don said. ‘Not a penny.’

I was pleased he was facing up to the situation at long last. ‘Why didn’t you tell me he was blackmailing you? I had to get confirmation from Roger Millfield.’

‘You hardly drop it into conversation, do you?’

‘I would have helped.’

‘You can’t do anything for me.’

‘Sutherland isn’t going to let this go.’

‘I’m done lying.’

I stared at Don. ‘Do you want Rebecca to know about you?’

He shrugged. ‘I’m tired of lying, Joe. That’s the truth.’

‘You should speak to Sarah.’

He sighed. ‘A long time ago, I thought you two were made for each other.’

‘Times change.’

‘I was probably too hard on you.’

I smiled. ‘I kicked back too much.’

‘Hardly matters now. We’re more alike than we’d care to admit.’

‘How so?’

‘Deep down, you’re not a bad guy, Joe, I know that. I can even overlook the fact you played for the wrong club.’

Whether he meant it or not, I knew he was really asking me not to judge him for the things he’d done. I wasn’t sure if I was able to do that. Don swallowed the last of his whiskey and stood up, swaying a little. ‘You never could handle your drink,’ I said. I thought about mentioning Andrew Bancroft’s murder, but it could wait until he was sober. ‘I’m going over to Belgium tomorrow with Sutherland.’ I didn’t need to explain what we were doing. ‘It’s the only way I can pay the debt back.’

Don shook his head. ‘You should go to the police.’

‘You know me better than that.’ We both smiled. I walked to the door. ‘I need you to keep an eye on Sarah and Lauren until I’m back.’

Don started to say something, but I cut him off. He wasn’t stupid. He knew what the score was and he was in no position to dictate to me. I repeated the message of keeping an eye on them.

I wasn’t ready to go home yet. I knew Alan Palmer had more he wanted to say about Andrew Bancroft’s murder, that much was obvious. There were things I needed to know and I now had more information. Palmer had told me he spent his evenings in the pubs of the Old Town. I started at one end of High Street and worked my way down, avoiding the louder pubs which catered for the younger market. I found him sitting in a quiet corner of Ye Olde Black Boy. True to his word, he was nursing half a pint of orange juice.

I stood in front of him and waited for him to notice me. When he did, I spoke. ‘I know Andrew Bancroft was killed. I’ve seen the photographs.’

He pushed his soft drink away. ‘Best get me a proper drink, then.’

I hadn’t expected it to be that easy. ‘Sure?’

He nodded. ‘Pint of lager.’

I headed for the bar.

‘And a whiskey chaser,’ he said to my back.

The barmaid poured our drinks, but not without suggesting I take Palmer somewhere else once we were done. She left the drinks on the bar and walked across to her stool, sat down and went back to her magazine.

I watched Palmer drink the whiskey, shaking as it went down. He then swallowed a mouthful of lager. I didn’t touch mine. I didn’t want it.

‘I was involved in Bancroft’s death,’ he said. ‘I was told to pick him up and drive him out to the pig farm.’

He wanted to talk. I had to ask the questions, even though I knew he was going to set something serious in motion with the answers. ‘Who told you to go and get him?’ I said.

‘Frank Salford.’

‘What happened?’

‘I went to Bancroft’s house and told him Frank wanted to give him a reward for the work he’d been doing. Like an idiot, he believed me. He swaggered into Frank’s office thinking he was the business. It was only when the door shut behind him that he started to get the picture. Frank floored him with a punch and he was tied up and held until it went dark. Then we threw him into a van and drove out to the countryside.’ He paused for a moment and composed himself. ‘Bancroft knew what was coming, that was for sure. I can still hear him begging us to let him go, but all Frank did was laugh and turn the radio up.’ Palmer picked up his lager before deciding he didn’t want to drink it. He put it down and pushed it away. ‘Frank hadn’t been feeding the pigs, so they were starving. You could see it in their eyes. They were jostling around their pen, making these horrible squealing noises. Bancroft was begging, screaming really, like an animal, but Frank didn’t care because no one would hear him. It was the middle of nowhere. I remember Frank pointing to the grave that’d been dug next to the pigs. He told Bancroft he could take his pick. He could either get in the pig pen or get in the grave. It was his choice.’

I stared at the wall behind his head, hoping the feeling of nausea would pass. Dave Johnson had once taken me out to a freshly dug grave in an attempt to frighten me. Maybe I’d had a lucky escape.

Palmer spoke. ‘Bancroft lost it. He fell to the ground, shouting out for his mam. I couldn’t look at the kid.’ He lowered his voice. ‘I’ve done some bad things in my life, and that’s the truth, but I’ve never seen anything like that. Frank was possessed, shouting and laughing manically that Bancroft had to choose either the pigs or the grave. I can’t tell you how horrible listening to someone beg for their life is.’

We sat in silence for a few moments. Unburdening the details had shaken Palmer. I waited until he pulled himself back together. I needed the time, too. My heart was beating a little faster. ‘What had Bancroft done?’

‘Skimming on the cash he was picking up.’

‘That’s it?’

‘Frank wouldn’t stand for it. If he let it go, others would do the same.’

The punishment wasn’t in line with the crime, but Salford wasn’t a rational man. It was genuinely shocking to me. ‘Which did Bancroft choose?’

Palmer lowered his voice. ‘The grave.’

There was a tear in the corner of his eye. I turned away, not wanting to embarrass him. I gave him a moment before pressing on. I didn’t want to hear it, but I couldn’t afford to let it go. ‘Was Dave Johnson there?’

Palmer shook his head. ‘Not that time.’

‘Why not?’

‘Couldn’t tell you.’

‘Was George Sutherland there?’

‘He was definitely there.’

I thought about the photographs I’d seen. Sutherland must have taken them. And now Dave Johnson had them. There was another face in them that I recognised. ‘Why was Roger Millfield there?’

Palmer looked puzzled. ‘Who’s he?’

‘He’s an accountant.’

Palmer thought about it before nodding. ‘A warning I suppose. Frank worked that way.’

That was what I was thinking. It was the only thing that made sense. I had one more question, maybe the key one. ‘Was Reg Holborn there?’

Palmer said he was. ‘He was the one who authorised it.’

I closed my eyes and my stomach lurched again. Millfield would have known he couldn’t go to the police. He had no option but to keep his mouth firmly shut.

‘Not even Frank would do something like that without permission,’ Palmer added.

It made sense. Salford wouldn’t have been able to exercise such a grip on the city if he didn’t have powerful allies.

Palmer stared at me. ‘What do we do now?’

I didn’t know what to say. All I could think of to say was that I knew Bancroft’s mother.

I threw my coat on to the back of the settee and walked into the kitchen of my flat. I rinsed out a dirty glass and filled it with water before sitting down. If there had been anything stronger in the flat, I would have tried to blot the conversation with Alan Palamer out of my mind, even if it would only be a temporary fix.

‘I’ve been thinking,’ Connor said to me. ‘I want to help.’

‘What with?’

‘The ferry.’

I cursed myself. I’d left the tickets in the flat. I put the glass down and shook my head. ‘It’s in hand. It’s going to get sorted.’

‘I should help.’

‘Don’t even go there.’

Connor continued. ‘It’s my mess. I should go on the ferry with you, Dad shouldn’t have to.’

‘I appreciate the thought, I really do, but it’s not that simple.’

‘I need to do it.’

I tried to explain. ‘I have no idea what we’re going to walk into over there. It might be dangerous. It’s certainly stupid. There’s every chance it could go wrong. I’m not putting you in that position.’

‘I’m not scared of going to prison.’

‘You should be.’ We sat in silence until I spoke. ‘Your dad wouldn’t want you doing it. I know that much.’ He was about to protest, so I continued. ‘The way to put it right is to take your second chance. You made a mistake and that’s fair enough. We’ve all made mistakes.’ I thought about Alan Palmer. He’d made serious mistakes and they’d ruined his life. Connor wasn’t going to do the same. He didn’t really want to get on the ferry with me, I could tell that much. He was a boy. There was no way I could let him do it. I rubbed my face and swallowed the water. It was another complication I could do without.

Connor changed the subject. ‘Milo’s found us a nightclub we can put our night on at. We’re going to check it out in a bit.’

‘Reckon it’s suitable?’

‘Sounds it.’

‘Good.’

We lapsed into silence and watched television together until he was ready to leave. I told him to take my bed tonight. I knew I was going to fall asleep on the settee again. I made myself comfortable and fumbled around for the hi-fi controller. I flicked to the radio and turned it down low, wanting the background noise. Aside from Palmer’s confession, it was like I’d closed the book properly on something tonight and said goodbye to Don. And Don Ridley & Son. There was no going back now. Things had shifted and it wasn’t reversible. I lifted the glass and offered a toast to my previous life.

It couldn’t be avoided. I reached for a writing pad and started to make notes, hoping things would look clearer that way. Andrew Bancroft had been murdered. It had been a punishment so others would think twice before stealing from Frank Salford. Salford didn’t need to explicitly say he’d killed him, either. Bancroft’s disappearance and the building up of a myth would be enough.

I threw the writing pad to one side. It wasn’t doing any good. The only fact that mattered to me was that George Sutherland wasn’t going to loosen his grip on me. Knowing he was involved in Bancroft’s death was one thing, proving it was another. Coleman would laugh me out of the room if I suggested arresting him in connection with Andrew Bancroft’s murder. I was going to need more.

My eyes were drawn to the photograph of Debbie on the mantelpiece. I hoped she would understand why I was doing this. She’d always said you had to look forward, whatever happened. What was done was in the past. I hoped she’d agree that putting things right for Niall and Connor was a price worth paying, even if the price was Dave Johnson’s freedom.

I found the envelope Coleman had given me and looked at the photographs again. Coleman had made copies for me to take away. Andrew Bancroft’s scared eyes stared back at me. I turned it over, not wanting to look at it any more. I took out the photograph of Roger Millfield that Coleman had surprised me with and tapped it with a finger. Millfield was stood next to the pig pen, looking every bit as scared as Bancroft must have been. I wondered what Millfield had done, the decisions he’d made that had taken him to such a place.

My mobile started to ring. The display said it was Sarah calling me. I stared at it for a moment before deciding to answer.