The Crooked Beat (3 page)

He shook his head and pointed to the photograph on his desk. His wife, Kath.

‘Are you sure?’ I said.

He nodded. ‘I’ve answered several dead telephone calls now. I know something’s not right.’

‘What do you want me to do?’

‘I was assuming you would tell me that, Joe.’

I stood up. ‘I’ll be in touch.’ I was back in work.

I needed to speak to everyone who knew the cigarettes were being kept in the lock-up. It didn’t seem to extend beyond Terry Gillespie and Peter Hill. They would be who I focused on. It was a starting point, but no more. I was going to need help. I headed straight to Sarah’s house. She was Don’s daughter, but she bore no grudge over the way things had finished, even though she had good reason to. As usual, I had to park a couple of streets away. The area was dense terracing, often two cars to every house. We’d ridden out a rough period between us, but our relationship was healing. I was pleased. Sarah was the nearest thing I had to a friend.

She let me in and we went through to her kitchen and sat down at the table. ‘How’s your dad doing?’ I asked her.

‘He’s alright.’

‘Still thinking about a life in the sun in Spain?’

Sarah smiled. ‘Talking about it, but he’ll never go. It’s not him. He’ll go and stay with his sister for a bit and hate it. It might be cold and wet, but Hull’s in his blood. He can’t leave it behind.’

‘Sounds about right.’ That was the Don I knew. He wasn’t one for being far from home.

‘Do you want to eat?’

I declined. I wasn’t hungry, but it was a nice gesture. Just like the old days. I watched her eat. I was too distracted to concentrate on the television while I waited. She finished and put her plate down.

‘Niall’s done something stupid,’ I said.

‘Poor Ruth.’

I shook my head. ‘Not like that.’ She got on well with Niall’s wife. It was easy to. My brother had chosen well. I liked her a lot. We’d had some good nights out together over the years. I knew Niall would never do anything to jeopardise that part of his life. He wasn’t that stupid.

‘I need your help,’ I said. I’d made a mess of things with Sarah in the past, but I trusted her. I’d made a promise to Don that I wouldn’t put her in danger again. I had no idea where this was going to lead us, but I knew it wasn’t going to be pleasant. I felt bad, but I couldn’t do this alone.

‘I thought you’d never ask.’ Sarah had always made it clear she made her own decisions. She was nobody’s fool and no pushover. ‘What do you need me to do?’ she said.

I told her about the cigarettes. And the fact they were missing.

‘What are we going to do about it?’ she asked me.

I smiled this time. Partners. ‘I want you to look into Terry Gillespie for me.’ I had plans myself for Peter Hill.

I waited until the morning and set my plan into action. Peter Hill was the link to the missing cigarettes, so I needed to speak to him. I didn’t want to door-step him, though. It wouldn’t do anyone any good, especially when I saw two young children waving him off as he left for the day. He was driving a blue Vauxhall Astra which was easy to follow. He pulled out of his cul-de-sac on to Sutton Road, heading towards the docks. The overnight ferries from Holland and Belgium would be in, and as well as the commercial freight, tourists would be spilling off, eager to head west to places like York and Leeds, spending their money elsewhere. There was a bus between us, but I kept him in sight. The bus turned right at the Holderness Road traffic lights. I tucked in behind him. The rush hour traffic was starting to build as commuters headed for the city centre. I stayed behind Hill as we crossed the Preston Road junction. It was now or never. I flashed my headlights repeatedly at him. He got the message, indicated and pulled over. I came to a stop behind him. He was already getting out of his car. He was in his early thirties, but already had the start of a middle-aged spread around his middle.

‘Is it my brake light again, mate?’ he asked me.

‘No.’

He looked confused. ‘What’s the problem, then?’

‘I didn’t want to knock on your front door.’

He took a step back, the colour draining from his face. ‘I’m not going to hurt you. I need to talk to you about the cigarettes and Terry Gillespie.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

I ignored the lie. ‘I need to talk to you.’

He relented, knowing he had no choice. He was probably expecting someone far worse than me to come knocking. ‘I’m at due at work in ten minutes.’

‘Fair enough.’

‘I’ll give you a call?’

I shook my head. ‘What time’s your lunch?’

‘I usually work through it.’

‘Not today.’

‘One o’clock,’ he eventually said.

I named the Asda on Mount Pleasant, a couple of miles away. It was the nearest place I could think of. ‘I’ll be in the cafe.’

He started to walk back to his car. I called after him. ‘By the way, your brake light isn’t working.’

Niall was hard at work when I arrived at the bar. He pointed to the corner he was earmarking for our dad’s Hull KR shirts.

‘Perfect,’ I said.

Niall stopped working. ‘I didn’t sleep last night.’

I took a breath. There wasn’t much I could say to help. I knew how tough it was on him. ‘Where’s Connor?’

‘In bed somewhere.’

‘Right.’

‘He’ll be at a mate’s house or his girlfriend’s place.’ Niall picked up his paintbrush. ‘But he’s certainly not where he should be.’

‘Tried ringing him?’

‘He knows where I am.’

I changed the subject and asked about the cigarettes. ‘Any word?’

‘Nothing.’

‘It makes me nervous.’

Niall smiled. ‘It makes you nervous?’

‘Fair point.’

‘Six months ago, I had a normal job and was looking forward to booking a holiday. These days, I’m scared of my own shadow.’

I wasn’t sure what to say to that. I told him I’d caught up with Peter Hill.

‘What did he have to say?’

‘I’m meeting him later to talk properly.’

‘Do you want me to come along?’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ I wanted to talk to Hill alone. ‘What do you know about him?’

Niall stopped painting. ‘Not a lot, really. I used to see him about the place. That’s all.’

‘Did you ever see him talking to Gillespie?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘I need you to think harder.’

Niall shook his head ‘It wasn’t for my ears. I only said Gillespie could use my lock-up because he was desperate. I didn’t get involved in the details.’

I was sure Gillespie knew more about the missing cigarettes than he’d told me. He could easily have stolen them and left Niall to take the rap. Regardless, he was the best lead I had and there was still some time before my meeting with Peter Hill. I called Sarah. She was free and willing to help. If Gillespie was involved, he had to make a move. And he’d confirmed to me he wasn’t working today. It was worth taking a chance. I picked up Sarah from her house and we drove across the city. I parked up away from Gillespie’s house so he wouldn’t see us, but close enough for us to see any movement. It was a fishing expedition, but I needed to do something.

Sarah took me through what she’d found out about him. ‘He’s got a record.’

‘How did he end up working in security?’

She shrugged. ‘It was a long time ago and he’s not been in trouble since. We’re talking decades ago.’

‘Right.’ Maybe his conviction was spent. I knew a lot of young men grew out of crime, that it was nothing more than youthful stupidity. But it didn’t feel right. It said something about the man’s character.

We stared at his house until Sarah took an envelope out her bag. ‘I’ll give him a knock.’

It was a trick we’d worked in the past. If one of us was unknown to our target, we’d knock on the door claiming to have a letter or delivery. If our target answered the door, we’d deliberately give a false name. If they didn’t answer the door, we had a ready-made and plausible reason to be knocking on their neighbour’s door. And that was often when we got some useful information. I watched as Sarah talked to Gillespie’s neighbour before returning to the car.

‘We’ll find him at the shops,’ she said.

‘Right.’ I knew the layout of the area. The square of shops also contained a bookies and a pub. It was a short drive away. We discussed a plan as we drove. The best we could do was that Sarah would walk about until she spotted him. I parked up in the centre of the shops. It didn’t take her long to find him. He was watching the horse racing. Sarah went into the newsagent and got us chocolate, drinks and a newspaper.

We only had to wait thirty minutes. Gillespie came outside and lit a cigarette. Five minutes later a taxi collected him. Sarah told me to follow. It was becoming a habit. I hung back as best I could without losing sight of him. The taxi dropped Gillespie off at a pub on Hedon Road. It was set slightly back from the dual carriageway. From the outside it was run-down and in poor condition. I looked up at the shabby paintwork around the window frames and the weathered bricks. The net curtains were grey. No wonder the place was largely ignored by potential customers.

‘You can’t go in,’ Sarah said.

I nodded. We both knew it belonged to George Sutherland. He was a name from my past.

I’d previously worked for his wife. She’d tired of his affairs over the years. It had been a simple job. I’d followed him discreetly for a couple of weeks. It had been one of my easiest jobs. He’d used a cheap chain hotel on the edge of the city centre, the woman an employee of his. It did mean I wasn’t going to be welcome. On paper, Sutherland was a legitimate businessman, but the man had given off an unpleasant vibe. I recognised his black heart. I’d quickly learned he’d worked for Frank Salford in the past. Salford had been one of an exclusive group of criminals who’d exercised a grip on organised crime in the city. He’d died a couple of years ago. Cancer, rather than violence. Our paths had crossed and I wasn’t upset to learn he’d suffered before dying. I hadn’t dug any deeper into Sutherland than that. I’d simply passed over the photographic evidence to his wife and left it at that.

‘Gillespie didn’t see me at the shops,’ Sarah said. ‘He had his back to me.’

Before I had chance to reply, she was out of the car and walking towards the entrance. I had to wait it out. There was little to look at. The pub stood in isolation. Most of the industry which had once surrounded it was long gone. The Fenner and Humbrol factories had once employed hundreds. A new office complex was in the process of being built on the Humbrol site and a haulage firm had opened next to it. Further along, the greasy spoon was still there, a throwback to past days. I grew increasingly impatient waiting for Sarah to reappear. Nothing much happened. I saw a handful of drinkers come and go. They were all like Gillespie. It didn’t appear personal hygiene was a priority for any of them. A sign in the window let me know the place was more than a pub. It offered bed and breakfast and hot meals. The £20 per night including meals meant it was definitely aiming to appeal to the less picky traveller. Sarah walked out of the pub and got back into my car.

I turned to her. ‘How did it go?’

‘Let’s say it’s not a forward-thinking kind of place. I don’t think women are a regular feature in there. I feel like I need a shower.’

‘Doesn’t surprise me.’

Sarah changed the subject back to Gillespie. ‘He was meeting people in there.’

‘Friends?’

‘I wouldn’t say so.’

It was interesting but it didn’t necessarily mean anything. It went towards building a picture, though. I started the car and pulled away.

As we drove away, I explained to Sarah that I had a meeting lined up with Peter Hill and that it needed to be alone.

‘He’s nervous enough as it is,’ I said, explaining that he was the inside man at Customs. ‘Another face might push him too far.’

‘Makes sense,’ she said.

I could tell she wasn’t happy about it, but I also needed her to find out what she could about Roger Millfield and his wife. I needed to keep on top of things in that respect. I dropped her in the city centre at the office and agreed to head straight there once I’d spoken to Hill.

I found Peter Hill waiting for me in the corner of the supermarket cafe, well away from the shoppers. It was as close as we were going to get privacy. I went straight over to him.

‘You’re late,’ he said. ‘I’ve got to get back to work.’

‘Did you get your brake light sorted?’

He looked at me like I was mad. ‘I’ve been at work.’

I told him to follow me out to my car.

‘Why?’

I leaned in closer to him. The place was busy with shoppers taking a break. Families, pensioners and children. ‘I’m not talking to you in here.’

‘I don’t know who you are.’

‘Niall’s brother.’

He relaxed and followed me to my car and got in the passenger seat.

‘We need to get a few things straight about the missing cigarettes,’ I told him.

He stared out of the window. ‘I’m very sorry to hear about what’s happened, but this isn’t my fault. It’s your brother’s problem to sort out.’

I put him straight and told him he was involved and every bit as liable. He was scared, but I wasn’t too bothered by that. The sooner he came around to my way of thinking, the better.

I could see a tear forming in the corner of his eye. ‘This wasn’t supposed to happen,’ he said.

‘But it has, so you’re going to have to deal with it.’ I relented a little. ‘Start at the beginning,’ I told him. ‘I’m the only friend you’ve got at the moment.’

‘I was under pressure, alright? My wife worked for the council, but she lost her job. You know how it is?’

‘Tell me how it is.’

‘I’m skint. That’s how it is. I owe money on my credit cards, I owe money on my mortgage and the kids need new things for school. This bloke approached me and suggested I could earn a bit extra if I turned a blind eye to a few things at work. Nothing serious, I was told. I needed the cash, so I didn’t say no to the idea at first.’