Deadly Friends (5 page)

‘Were you invited?’ Sparky asked.

‘Yeah, well, not exactly.’

‘You invited yourself round, was that it?’

‘No, not exactly. She’s all right, is Janet. I like ’er. It was raining cats an’ dogs one night, ’owling down, so I ran ’er ’ome in t’car. Then I called in a couple o’ times on a Monday night. It’s dead in ’ere, so I ’ave a night off, if you know what I mean.’

Sparky leant forward again. ‘Did you,’ he asked, very slowly, ‘ever have sex with her?’

The landlord shook his head. ‘No.’

‘But you would have liked to?’

‘Yeah, well …’ He cast another glance towards the bar. No other words were necessary.

Dave heaved a big sigh and sat up, looking at me. It was my turn. I said: ‘But you tried? You offered your services?’

‘Yeah, well, I fought, you know, she was on ’er own, like, an’ I’m as good as, an’ everyfing.’

‘What did she say?’

‘She weren’t interested. She was good about it, though. Said she preferred to keep fings on a business footing, if you know what I mean.’

Good for you, Janet, I thought. ‘And did you tell Darryl that?’ I asked.

The landlord shuffled in his seat, uncomfortable.

‘Or,’ I continued, ‘did you just tell him that you’d been round to her house a couple of times and that she’d made you welcome, if you know what I mean? Is that what you did, eh? Make him think that Janet
was available for any fucking deadbeat who fancies a screw! Was that it?’

I wanted to take him by the throat and shake him until his eyeballs turned to cheese. I wanted to tell him that thanks to him and his pathetic inadequacies Darryl went round and raped Janet with a Kitchen Devil carver held to her throat, while she was wrapping her daughter’s Christmas presents. But I didn’t, because I wasn’t allowed to.

I felt Sparky’s hand on my arm. ‘Let’s go,’ he said. ‘We’ve got all we can here.’

Our cars were side by side in the car park. I leant on the side of mine while Sparky unlocked his door ‘Thanks for your help, Dave,’ I said. ‘You did well.’

‘I thought you were going to plant him.’

‘I meant before that. I think we know a bit more about our friend Darryl, now.’

‘Except the important stuff, like his surname and his address.’

‘Yeah, well, maybe Maggie will come up with something.’

Dave swung into the driving seat and pulled the belt over his stomach. ‘It’s odd we don’t know him,’ he said. ‘I wonder where he comes from?’

‘Who? Darryl?’

‘Mmm.’

‘Oh, I know where he comes from.’

‘You know? How?’

I tapped the side of my head with a forefinger and
asked: ‘Remember the office motto: knowledge is power?’

‘I thought it was knowledge catches crooks.’

‘Sorry, you’re right. Knowledge catches crooks.’

‘So where does he come from?’

‘Burnley.’

‘Burnley!’

‘Burnley. As sure as God made Wallace Arnold buses.’

Annabelle rang me that evening. ‘Before you ask,’ I told her, ‘I’ve had a piece of cod from the market, grilled to perfection – mmm! – with some melted cheese over it, and a few vegetables.’ Actually it was boil-in-the-bag, but what you don’t know can’t give you indigestion.

‘Well done,’ she replied. ‘I’m glad you are eating sensibly, if you are telling the truth.’

‘Scout’s honour. Followed by a big cream bun from the bakery. What about you? How did your evening with Farouk go?’

‘Farouk? Who’s Farouk?’

‘This Egyptian carpet dealer who took you to his restaurant.’

‘He’s Persian, and he’s called Xav. I imagine it is
short for Xavier. Actually he’s very nice. Older than I expected, but ever so charming.’

‘I’m jealous already. How was the meal?’

‘The meal itself was fine, but I think I may have upset George and Rachel.’

‘Go on,’ I laughed.

‘Blame it on your Yorkshire forthrightness rubbing off on me …’

‘Bluntness,’ I interrupted. ‘We call it bluntness.’ ‘Bluntness, then. Poor old Xav asked me what I thought of his lovely new restaurant, so I told him. George looked ever so embarrassed and if looks could kill you’d have an APW out for Rachel. Did I get that right?’

‘Ha ha! That’s my girl. What did you say?’

‘Well, the restaurant is called Omar Khayyam’s, rather predictably, and Xav has the contract for a chain of them, attached to something called Luxotel Hotel and Conference Centres. It is supposed to be an alternative dining experience, more upmarket than the hotel restaurants, to give top businessmen somewhere to impress their more affluent clients.’

‘I’m impressed already,’ I said, ‘and I haven’t even been.’

‘You would have seen it for what it was,’ Annabelle assured me. For a start, I told him that the name was naff. I said it sounded like a takeaway.’ She giggled at the memory. ‘Then I criticised the decor. It was all done in pale green and lilacs, what you would describe as a poof’s boudoir. I told him that I would have chosen
something bolder; perhaps largely white, with black and red panels and gold borders; something with a more Eastern feel.’

‘Sounds good to me. What did he say?’

‘That was the surprising thing. He had a good look around and said he agreed. He wished that he had consulted me earlier. I wondered if he was just being polite, or patronising me.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ I said. ‘I’ve told you before, you have a flair for that kind of thing.’

‘Then he asked me to suggest another name, before it was too late and he’d had all the signs made. After some thought I said I’d call it Jamshyd’s.’

‘Jamshyds?’

‘That’s right. He was a Persian king, fabulously wealthy, mentioned in the Rubaiyat.’

I said: ‘As in: “The wild ass stamps o’er his head, and he lies fast asleep”?’

‘Hmm, not quite, that was another king. “The lion and the lizard keep the courts where Jamshyd gloried and drank deep,” but I’m still impressed.’

‘Don’t be – it’s the only poem I know. Your version sounds much more appropriate. I’m glad you enjoyed yourself, Annabelle, and it sounds as if you gave them something to think about. So when are you coming home? You know I’ll be extremely happy to come and fetch you.’

‘Ah. That’s why I rang.’ her voice had dropped several tones. ‘Would you be very disappointed if I
stayed down here for the New Year, Charles? Xav rang me earlier today and said he would like to show me the designs for the next restaurant. Apparently it is nearly at the decoration stage and he needs to move fast if he’s changing things. He says he will even pay me consultancy fees, would you believe? Do you mind, love? I’ll come back if you insist.’

What do you say? Do you insist? The words no win situation are not usually anywhere near the tip of my tongue, but right then I couldn’t think of a better expression.

‘Oh,’ I said.

‘It’s only a couple of days. I’ll come back on the train, the day after New Year’s day.’

That was three days. ‘Er, right,’ I mumbled. ‘You’ve, er, caught me off balance. I was looking forward to coming to collect you.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry if I’ve upset your plans, Charles, but I really would like to have a go at this. It’s a wonderful opportunity.’

Bugger my plans, I thought, it’s me that’s upset. ‘Yes, I can see that,’ I told her. ‘Don’t worry about me. You show those experts a thing or two that they couldn’t learn at college, and tell me all about it when you come home, eh?’

‘I knew you would understand, and you know what they say?’

‘What’s that?’

‘Absence makes the heart grow fonder, of course.’

‘Of course.’ And so does lying in each other’s arms under a duvet, with the rain blowing soundlessly against the double glazing and Rimsky’s Sheherazade playing very low on the CD. And I know which I prefer.

You don’t see a suspect for weeks, then two come along at the same time. I was listening to Today on Radio 4, mug of tea in hand, feet on the gas fire, when the phone rang. The Prime Minister was on the radio, delivering his New Year message. Law and Order was high on the priority list again. He was determined to make Britain a safer place for young and old alike. Measures would be announced to curb the increasing tendency towards violence and he promised five thousand more policemen on the beat by the end of next year. I yawned and reached for the phone.

A refrigerated van had drawn up at the end of Ged Skinner’s street and a figure answering to his description had leapt down from it, carrying a sports bag, and entered the squat.

‘I’ll be with you in about twenty minutes,’ I said.

I was pulling my coat on when the phone rang again. ‘Priest.’

‘It’s Maggie, Boss. I didn’t want to ring you last night, but I went for a look-round with Janet Saunders and we found Darryl.’

‘Brilliant! Well done.’

‘He’s called Darryl Buxton, but we’ve nothing on him.’

‘Great. Look, Maggie, I’m sorry to cut you off in your finest hour, but I’m on my way to lift the bloke we think did the doctor. You stay with it today, see what else you can find, and I’ll have a word with you later. OK?’

‘Will do. Good luck.’

‘Cheers.’

The unseasonable weather was changing; the sky clearing and the breeze swinging to the North. I pulled my down-filled jacket out of the closet and swapped the contents of my pockets round. Once I wore it up mountains, but now it was just another winter coat. Outside, the fieldfares were stuffing themselves with my cotoneaster berries, as if they knew something we didn’t.

A panda car was parked two streets away from the squat, with Sparky’s Escort behind it. I pulled in behind them and spoke to the crew of the panda.

‘Let’s get on with it,’ I said.

One of them lifted a radio. ‘Mr Priest is here. Ready when you are.’

‘OK,’ came the reply. ‘Let’s go go go!’

We didn’t make a fuss. Just drove to the front and back of the house and marched into the yard. I hammered on the door.

Sparky nodded at my jacket. ‘Expecting bad weather?’

I nodded and sniffed. ‘Smell that breeze,’ I said. ‘That’s ice, straight from the Arctic.’

He looked up at the sky and sniffed audibly. ‘And polar bear shit,’ he confirmed.

A bleary-eyed woman in a pink candlewick housecoat came to the door. It was only seven a.m. but she’d no doubt still be wearing it at noon. She had a ring through her nose and on her throat was the biggest ripe blackhead I’ve ever seen. I could hardly take my eyes off it. The nearest she got to soap was on TV five evenings per week.

‘Police,’ I said. ‘We believe Ged Skinner is here. Could you find him, please.’

‘I’ll, er, go look,’ she mumbled, and tried to close the door. I put my arm out to hold it open and went in. Sparky and a City DC followed me.

‘Ged!’ the woman shouted. ‘It’s the police, for you!’

We were standing in a dismal passage with brown walls and lino on the floor. A pram and a bike took up most of the room and several kid’s toys lay around. Doors opened and inquisitive faces, mainly children’s, poked round them. A little girl appeared, wearing a short vest and no knickers. She stared up at us, fingers in her mouth. Sparky spoke to her. He’s good with kids and I’m grateful.

Skinner came bouncing down the stairs wearing a T-shirt with the Nike logo on the front and shell suit bottoms with don’t-I-look-stupid stripes under one knee. He was about five foot nine, with longish hair and a little wisp of a beard. His complexion looked as if it came with extra mozzarella. ‘What’s up?’ he asked.

‘Ged Skinner?’

‘Yeah. What of it?’

‘We’d like a word with you, somewhere more private. How about coming out to the car?’

‘What’s it about?’

‘We’ll tell you there.’

‘I’m having my breakfast,’ he protested. ‘I’ve just come in.’

‘We won’t keep you long,’ I said. Fifteen years was the time I had in mind. The passage was filling with people of assorted ages and states of dress.

‘’E’s only just come in,’ a spotty youth in what looked like a Dodgers nightshirt confirmed. I didn’t know they did nightshirts.

‘Look,’ I told Skinner. ‘We need to talk to you. It can either be here or down at the station, the choice is yours.’

‘I’m not going anywhere ’less you tell me what it’s about.’

The woman with the blackhead had adopted a protective stance alongside him. ‘Why don’t you leave us alone?’ she ranted. ‘We ’aven’t done nothing.’

I was waiting for the next line: ‘Why aren’t you out catching murderers,’ but she said: ‘’Aven’t you anything better to do?’

‘Are you coming out to the car?’ I demanded.

‘I’m not going nowhere unless you tell me what it’s about.’

‘OK, have it your way. Ged Skinner, I am arresting
you on suspicion of being involved in the death of Dr Clive Jordan. You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned, something that you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand? Good, let’s go.’

The spectators were stunned into silence, except for the little girl who started to cry. ‘The doctor?’ Skinner said, shaken. ‘You think it was me what did the doctor?’

‘Take him in,’ I told Sparky, ‘and let’s have this place searched.’

‘Let’s see your warrant,’ Skinner insisted.

‘I’m all the warrant we need,’ I told him. ‘Let’s go.’ ‘Hang on,’ Skinner protested. ‘I haven’t got any shoes on.’

I looked down and saw his bare feet for the first time. ‘For God’s sake, someone fetch his shoes,’ I yelled.

‘Where do you want him taking, guv,’ the City DC asked.

‘Heckley. We’re still allowed to make our own tea there.’

While Skinner was being processed I had a toasted tea cake in the canteen then ran upstairs to see if anything was happening in the office that I needed to know about. Maggie was hanging her coat up.

‘Did you get him?’ she asked.

‘Bet your ass,’ I replied with a wink and a jerk of
the head. ‘But we had to arrest him. We’ll let him settle in, have a word with the duty solicitor, then I’ll put the thumbscrews on him.’

It had worked out well. The evidence was a bit weak, all circumstantial, and the custody sergeant might have thrown it out, so I’d normally have done an initial interview and hoped something would have come from that. We’d arrested him because he wouldn’t cooperate, and that meant that I could now authorise a property search.

‘Have you time to hear about Darryl?’

‘You may not believe it, Maggie,’ I told her, ‘but Darryl is my number one priority. I’m just Makinson’s running dog in this murder case. Fire away – what have you got?’

She tucked her blouse into her skirt and sat down opposite me. Her hair was wet, several strands clinging to her forehead. ‘We went looking for him last night,’ she began. ‘Janet and me, that is. Found him in a
town-centre
pub. The Huntsman. It was fifties night – you’d have been at home. Darryl was leaning on the bar, chatting to anyone who came to be served. Got the impression that was his technique. It was early, about eight thirty. Looked like we’d have a long wait and Janet was upset, so I phoned for a taxi and sent her home. Hope that’s all right?’

‘No problem. Go on.’

‘Darryl stayed until chucking-out time. He drove home alone and I followed him to a flat in that posh
new block near the canal. The address matched the one on record for the owner of the Mondeo he was driving. He’s called Darryl Buxton and he’s clean, I’m afraid. All the other details are on your desk.’

‘Brilliant, Maggie. We’ll make a detective of you yet. Looks as if you’d better take an afternoon off when things settle down – you heard what Mr Wood said about overtime.’

‘That’s OK. There’s more. This morning I followed him to his place of employment. He works in the town centre, for someone called Homes 4U. That’s number 4, capital U. Snappy, eh?’

‘Speaks volumes about their clientele,’ I said.

‘Quite. They’re some sort of estate agents, specialising in cheap rentals, DHSS work, that sort of stuff. They’re big around Manchester and are just expanding to this side of the Pennines. I rang them up and had a
girl-to-girl
chat with their receptionist. She sounded a bit dim. Darryl is the local manager.’

We were sitting at Nigel’s desk and I’d straightened most of his paper clips as I listened to Maggie. I pulled at his middle drawer to find some more and saw the Guardian, open at the crossword. My proudest achievement is that I’ve created the only department in the force where officers dare to be seen reading the Guardian. I slid the drawer shut again.

‘Now you’ve sorted that out,’ I said, ‘I don’t suppose you’d like to have a go at this murder case would you? Sort that out, too?’

Maggie smiled and her cheeks flushed, just a little. ‘If you need me, but what I’d really like is a bacon sandwich in the canteen, if you don’t mind.’

I nodded my approval and she asked me if I was joining her. ‘No, I’ve just come from there,’ I said.

When she’d gone I pulled the crossword out and read through the clues. They might as well have been written in Mandarin Chinese. One across was ‘Editor rejected ruse set out (6).’ Possibly an anagram of set out, but nothing flashed into my brain. I put potato. Two lines below was nine across: ‘Comes down, about to fix forest in grand planned development (9,9).’ The second nine referred to twelve across. I wrote apple pies and crocodile in the appropriate squares. For fifteen, nineteen, twenty-two and twenty-seven across I put: haddock, ruminant, frogspawn and Zatopek.