The Crooked Beat (4 page)

‘Terry Gillespie?’

He was surprised that I knew the name, but nodded his agreement.

‘What did he want you to do?’

‘I had to make sure a consignment of DVDs got through with no problems. It was only a small thing, nothing too serious. That’s all it was.’

‘And you did it?’

‘I’m not proud of the fact. I told him it was a one-off. I wasn’t prepared to do it again.’

‘But he came back wanting more?’

‘He passed me on to the people he was working for. Bad people. I was told if I didn’t follow the instructions I was given, I’d lose my job. And that was just for starters. They wanted some cigarettes bringing through this time.’

I couldn’t believe the man’s naivety. ‘Have you mentioned my brother to anyone?’

He shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t do that.’

I stared until he looked away. I was sure he’d got the message. ‘What about the police? Why didn’t you go to them?’

‘How could I? I was stupid, but they made it very clear what would happen if I did. They sent me photos of my kids running around in the school playground.’ Hill had my attention. ‘If they can get to them at school, they can get to them anywhere.’

I felt bad hearing his story, but I needed the details. ‘Tell me about the cigarettes.’

‘They smuggled them in through big coffee tins. They’re just the right size. Some of them were emptied out and the cartons were packed in with sweetcorn, so it’d feel and sound right if they were inspected. It was all catering supplies. All I know was that it was something that they’d been planning for a while. Months, probably. But things changed. I was told they were arriving and I had to deal with them. I tried to explain it wasn’t my job to sort it out. My job was to look the other way, but they needed somewhere to store them. I didn’t have a choice in the matter. I went back to Gillespie. He said he knew someone with a lock-up. It was the best we could do at short notice. It was only going to be for a couple of days.’

‘Right.’

‘You can’t tell anyone about this.’

‘Who do they belong to?’ I asked.

He told me he didn’t know. He was genuinely scared. I knew he was nothing more than a family man who was in over his head, but I couldn’t afford to let him off the hook. ‘Don’t bullshit me,’ I said. ‘I need to know who they belonged to.’

‘I don’t know.’

I sat back in my chair. ‘You’ve got to give me something. It’s the only way I can help.’ I hated the look of gratitude on his face as I spoke. I wasn’t doing this for him.

‘They gave me a mobile. It’s pay-as-you-go, so I have to top it up. The man who’s in charge calls me, but I don’t know his name. He withholds his number, so I can’t call him. I have to wait for him to contact me.’

I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel, unsure of my next move. ‘And you’ve got no idea who he is?’

Hill shook his head. ‘I only see his workers, Tom and Jerry. I’m sure that’s not their real names.’

I tried to keep the sarcasm out of my voice as I agreed with him. I knew pay-as-you-go meant the mobile would be untraceable. It would all be cash and false addresses. Even so, I asked to see it. Hill rummaged about in his pocket and passed it over. I scrolled through the list of calls. All withheld numbers. There was nothing.

‘One of the men sent me a text message,’ Hill said.

I worked out how to access them and found the one I wanted. It was dated a few days before the cigarettes were stolen from the lock-up. The message told Hill that he should be ready. His guests would be arriving the following morning. Guests obviously meant the cigarettes. It made sense, but sending a text message was a basic error. I transferred the number it had come from into my mobile and told him to go back to work.

It felt strange to be back in the office we’d shared as Ridley &Son. Sarah was sitting in what had been her usual place. I found myself doing the same. We had a desk and chair each, but that was it. Don had arranged for all our case files to be held in storage. The office felt twice as large without the rest of the furniture. I stared at the carpet and could see the marks the now-removed filing cabinets had left. The walls were bare. The framed prints we’d displayed had all been bought for next to nothing in the nearby indoor market, but the room felt wrong without them there. It was like there was no trace of the company ever existing. Within a couple of weeks, another business would be in – accountants, IT support, solicitors – it could be anything. Time moved on.

‘How did it go?’ Sarah asked me.

‘You first,’ I said.

She passed me a folder full of print-outs. ‘Have a look at this.’

I waved it away. ‘The highlights will be fine.’

‘Kath Millfield’s an interesting character. Married to Roger for almost thirty years. She’s now head of a charity which works with children to improve their literacy skills outside of school. It seems like she started it as something to occupy herself when her husband was working long hours and it just snowballed. She came from nothing as a child, brought up in a rough part of Hull with few opportunities. You know the drill. She worked hard to improve herself and the charity became a big success. Inspirational, you might say.’

‘I wouldn’t disagree.’

Sarah smiled. ‘That’s not what you wanted to know about her.’

‘Not really.’

‘It seems there are plenty of people who don’t like her.’ She pointed to her laptop, which was switched on and displaying a photograph of Kath Millfield. ‘She’s in her mid-fifties, but she’s still glamorous and likes people to know it. I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you that men are threatened by women with beauty and brains.’

I feigned mock outrage. Sarah slapped me on the arm before continuing. ‘But seriously, you don’t achieve what she has without ruffling a few feathers.’

‘How so?’

‘I don’t think she’s got many friends in the world of education.’

‘No?’

‘Think about it. She’s more or less accusing the schools of not doing their jobs properly. She’s well liked in the local media, and she knows how to play the game, but she has plenty of detractors.’

I entered Kath Millfield into Google and flicked through the photographs it brought up of her. The majority had been taken at social and charity functions. One man constantly appeared alongside the Millfields. I pointed to the man and asked Sarah if she knew him.

‘Neil Farr,’ she said.

‘Who’s he?’

‘A local solicitor.’

‘Right.’ It was all useful background. I clicked off the Internet.

‘Your turn,’ Sarah said.

I repeated what Peter Hill had told me. I was beginning to feel guilty about the way I’d spoken to him.

‘Heavy stuff,’ she said.

I knew it was never going to be pleasant, but hearing Hill’s story had brought it home to me. Niall had a serious problem, and that meant I had, too. I was dealing with organised criminals. ‘I’ve got the telephone number of one of the people threatening Hill.’

‘What are you going to do?’ she asked me.

‘I’m not sure.’

‘You’ve no idea who this guy is, or who he’s working for?’

‘None at all.’

Sarah stood up. ‘I’ll tell you what you’re going to do.’ She picked up her bag and rummaged around inside it. She held out a SIM card to me and smiled.

I put the old SIM into my mobile and entered the number. A man answered.

‘Who’s this?’ I said.

He laughed. ‘Who the fuck are you?’

‘I asked first.’

‘Don’t waste my time.’

Before he had chance to finish the call, I told him I had the cigarettes. I glanced at Sarah and waited for the man to say something. He eventually said I should give them back.

‘We need to talk, then,’ I said. ‘Top of the path which leads to the Lord Line Building.’ It was next to St Andrews Quay Retail Park which would be busy enough for our purposes. It was the best place I could think of quickly. Now derelict and long abandoned, it had once been a thriving office at the heart of the dock, sitting there proudly overseeing the fishing fleet and the River Humber.

‘How will I recognise you?’ he said.

‘I’ll recognise you.’ I said he had half an hour to get there and terminated the call.

We left Sarah’s house and headed for the meeting. Next to the footpath was a large car park which served a range of electrical and furniture shops. We parked between two other cars. The shops were still open for another couple of hours, so people were busy going about their business. We wouldn’t be noticed. The man we were waiting for eventually appeared and stood where instructed. We watched and waited. I was pretty certain he was by himself. He wasn’t nervous. He was casually waiting for me to make myself known to him. I had no intention of doing that. I waited until he relaxed and started to walk about on the spot to keep warm.

I glanced at Sarah. She was holding a small digital camera in her hand. ‘Now, I reckon.’

She quickly took a couple of shots and passed me the camera.

I scrolled through the photographs. ‘Perfect.’ I passed the camera back, started the car and joined the steady stream of the traffic leaving the shops.

Before I headed to Niall’s bar, we returned to Sarah’s house and she printed me off a photograph of the man. The light at the bar was still on. Niall had been working hard. I guessed it would be opening on schedule. I walked over to the far corner and looked at the display of our dad’s rugby league memorabilia. The shirts made for a great feature. Someone had sourced copies of newspaper articles and framed them. He’d played at Wembley in the mid-sixties. Hull KR’s first ever appearance in the Challenge Cup Final. I was lost in thought and didn’t hear Niall walk up and stand next to me.

‘Alright?’ he said.

I fingered the photograph in my pocket. ‘You’re doing a great job.’

I turned to look at him. He’d been beaten. He’d cleaned his face up, but I could see the swelling and the cuts. We stared at each other. ‘What happened?’ I said.

‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘Of course it matters.’

‘It was obvious someone was going to catch up with me sooner or later.’

‘What did he say?’

‘He wanted the money.’

I took the photograph out and showed it to him. ‘Was it him?’

Niall nodded his confirmation.

I told him how I’d got it. ‘Any idea who he is?’

He shook his head. ‘No idea.’

I’d asked Sarah to find out what she could. He had to be known.

‘Could do without this,’ Niall said. ‘The bar opens in a couple of nights' time. I’ll look a mess.’

There was nothing I could say to that. The bruises would fade, but he’d have to wait it out.

‘I’m going to call it a night,’ he said.

‘Do you want a lift home?’

‘Wouldn’t say no.’

We locked up and left. We drove across the city in silence until I pulled up outside his house.

‘Do you want to come in, Joe?’

I looked at his face and thought of Ruth sitting inside, waiting. He had a lot of explaining to do. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’

Although I’d asked Sarah to do what she could identify the man, I couldn’t let it go. I had to do something. He’d attacked my brother and I was worried my nephew was going to be next. I headed for Terry Gillespie’s house. I hadn’t paid much attention when I’d first visited. It was a standard council terraced house. His front garden was overgrown and in need of some work. I knocked loudly on his door. No answer. All the windows were closed and the lights were off. I knocked again and shouted through the letterbox. Eventually, one of his neighbours came out.

‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’ he said.

I wasn’t going to back down. ‘Looking for Terry.’

‘Try the pub.’ He pointed down the road.

I knew where he meant. I nodded and thanked him.

I found Terry Gillespie standing by himself at the bar, watching the football on the big screen. I ordered a drink and joined him. He’d received the same treatment as Niall. His nose had been broken and his left eye had closed over. Dried blood marked his face. I stood alongside him.

‘My ribs are killing me,’ he said.

It was superficial damage. Enough to hurt, but not enough to do him serious damage. ‘Who did it?’

‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘How many of them?’

‘What does it matter?’

‘I want to know.’

He eventually answered. ‘Just the one. You don’t need an army to sort me out these days.’

‘Who was it?’

‘No idea.’

‘You’d never seen him before?’

‘Never.’

‘What did he look like?’

He described the man. It could have been any number of men in the city. He was lying to me. He knew exactly who’d worked him over. I’d been wrong in thinking that he’d taken the cigarettes from Niall’s lock-up, but something wasn’t right.

Gillespie pushed his glass towards me. ‘Getting them in or what? Bitter.’ He gestured to his mate who had walked in. ‘His is a lager.’

I told him to find a table before ordering the drinks. I left the lager for his mate on the bar and walked across the room to him. I put the drinks on the table and sat down.

‘What about the cigs?’ he said. ‘Found them yet?’

‘Not yet.’

He shrugged. ‘They can keep kicking the shit out of me if they like. It won’t change anything.’

I watched as he sipped at the drink I’d bought him. He was right. He had nothing to lose. Niall and Peter Hill had plenty to lose. I showed him the photograph of the man I’d seen at St Andrews Quay. ‘Does he look familiar?’

He glanced at it before quickly turning away. He passed the photograph back. ‘No idea.’

I held it back out to him. ‘Do you want to have another look?’

‘No point.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

He picked his drink up. ‘Can’t tell you what I don’t know.’

He was definitely rattled. I stood up and walked back to the bar. I showed the photograph to Gillespie’s mate. ‘Any ideas?’

He glanced at it and nodded before shouting across to Gillespie. ‘That’s Alan Palmer’s lad, isn’t it? Carl?’ He passed me the photograph back. ‘Nasty piece of work, the pair of them, that’s for sure.’