Death in July (11 page)

Sam noticed Benjamin looking at him in the rear view mirror.

His eyebrows were raised.

***

A short time later, they were on their way back from the airport, minus Taylor. The woman had practically run into the departure lounge in her haste to leave her nightmare behind. Sam couldn't really blame her.

'So, what are we going to do now?'

Sam smiled at Benjamin's question. The resolve had returned to his voice after his recent scare.

'What's so funny?' asked Benjamin.

'You,' replied Sam. 'It wasn't that long ago you were telling me to drop the case.'

A steely look appeared in Benjamin's eyes. He had been shaken, almost scared off, but now he was looking like the man Sam had first met days ago. A man convinced in what he believed in again.

'That was before Erica passed away. That's two deaths now this man has been involved in.'

Sam had told Benjamin about his discoveries in the hotel room. He had also told him about the false identification used to obtain the hire car. Benjamin was fuming, out for blood.

'Can't we try going to the police now?' he asked.

Sam shook his head.

'We haven't got enough to get them even remotely interested. The photo we've got isn't bringing up a name, address or record of any kind. Neither of the deaths are going to be looked at as suspicious by the police without overwhelming evidence. Then there's the threat that was made to you...'

Sam thought about Richard Brown and how he was still on the loose despite the best efforts of DI Jackson.

'Benjamin, even if the police believe us, there's no guarantee they would find this man...and if he realises they're onto him, he's going to come looking for you. Don't forget, Arnold's at your home right now...and he's got a family back up in Scotland.'

Benjamin chewed on his lip.

'I hadn't thought about that,' he murmured.

Sam had given it plenty of thought. In the unlikely scenario the police hunted this man down based on Sam's information, Benjamin wouldn't be offered anything like the level of protection Alice was currently getting. In her case, there was hard evidence to warrant such action. Benjamin would be laughed all the way out the station if he asked for the same security.

'I'll stay on the case, Benjamin, just in case this guy is targeting someone else. But it's got to be discreet from now on. The police have got to be kept out of it...and we need to keep our contact with each other to a minimum.'

Benjamin nodded in approval. Sam smiled. He would have continued regardless and Benjamin would have been no wiser.

'Anyway, how's your brother?' asked Sam 'Where did he go earlier?'

'He went straight to the cemetery from the wake...turned his phone off so he could have some peace and quiet at our father's graveside. Talking to Erica has really made him re-assess everything about our father.'

'It's a shame he only got to talk to her after his death.'

'Exactly what I thought, but now this has happened to Erica, it's thrown him again. He's going to stay with me tonight. Hopefully, he'll clear his head before he goes back tomorrow.'

'All the more reason for you both to stay safe.'

Benjamin nodded in reluctant agreement.

***

After Benjamin dropped him back in town, Sam collected his car, dropped his gun off at the flat and drove to the Barton Arms. It was late by the time he reached the pub. The road outside was dimly-lit, the soft glow from the sparse street-lights doing little to illuminate the vicinity. The pub doors were locked, and the building was in darkness except for a light in the upstairs kitchen window. Keeping his eyes peeled, Sam walked up to the door.

Suddenly, strong hands grabbed him by the arms and slammed him into the wall.

'Police!'

Sam was impressed. He hadn't spotted anyone.

'Keep your hands against the wall and your legs apart!'

Two pairs of hands expertly padded him down, leaving Sam relieved he had offloaded the gun. He was philosophical about this inconvenience. Getting a face full of brick was a small price to pay if it meant the women were being protected properly. And it certainly seemed they were.

'Name!'

A second voice. Harsh. To the point. Sam couldn't have chosen better men for the job himself.

'Sam Carlisle,' he replied, spitting dust out of his mouth. 'The landlord is expecting me. Give him a bell.'

They didn't relax their grip in the slightest, nor did Sam turn his head to look around. He knew he would only have another bruise on his face to show if he did.

'Mr Curran? We've got a Sam Carlisle outside...you're coming down...okay...'

Sam felt the hands holding him loosen just a touch.

'He's on his way down. We can get this cleared up then.'

Sam wasn't sure if they were addressing him or talking to each other. There followed a surreal few moments where they all waited for Archie in silence, each man breathing steadily, not moving a muscle. Then Sam heard the sound of bolts sliding inside the pub.

'It's okay, gentlemen,' Archie called out. 'You can let this trouble-maker go.'

Sam's arms were released. He rubbed some life back into them as he turned around.

'Come on, Sam,' grinned Archie. 'Let's get you inside.'

Before he did, Sam took in the two men who had apprehended him. They were both short and stocky, with cropped hair and thick necks. Sam thought he was seeing double before he realised they were twins. Both men held a hand out to him.

'No hard feelings, mate,' said one, giving Sam a wry smile. 'Just doing our job.'

'None at all,' replied Sam, taking his hand. 'Just make sure you keep doing it.'

As Sam followed Archie upstairs to the pub's living quarters, he felt the throbbing in his leg start up again.

'Have you been in the wars again?' asked Archie, noticing Sam wince with every step.

Sam grimaced at him.

'It's nothing a drop of the hard stuff won't fix.'

'That's my boy,' said Archie. 'Come on, you've got people waiting to see you.'

Moira and Alice were sat at a table in the small kitchen. The tension on the faces turned to surprise when they saw Sam hobble in with his face in a state. Alice was on her feet straight away.

'Sam! What happened to-'

'I'll live,' said Sam, waving for her to sit back down, gingerly doing the same himself. He looked around for Archie. 'Typical,' he said. 'Where's a landlord when you want one?'

Archie re-appeared right on cue carrying a bottle of whisky.

'I've just met your personal security downstairs,' said Sam, looking at Moira and Alice in turn. 'I don't think you've got anything to worry about while they're watching over you.'

Archie poured them all a stiff drink. The toast was a sombre one.

'Well, I hope they catch Richard soon,' said Moira, pulling a face. 'I've still got a business to run next week.'

'Patience, Moira. They'll get him.'

'Sam's right,' said Archie. 'You won't be here much longer.'

'We heard about Richard trying to run you over,' said Alice, guilt written all over her face.

Sam looked at Archie, who shrugged.

'They overheard me talking to the police,' he said quietly.

'And Alice heard him blab about someone following me,' added Moira, giving Archie a hard stare.

'Do you really think someone was following you?' asked Sam, suddenly overcome by a wave of exhaustion. 'I mean, now you've had time to think about it.'

Moira sighed.

'I don't know, Sam. I could have imagined it. I think we're all a bit paranoid right now.'

They all murmured in agreement. Sam drained his glass. He could already feel the alcohol working its magic on his pain.

'So, what happened to you today?' asked Alice, staring at the various bumps and bruises on his face. 'You look like-'

'Don't ask any questions,' said Moira, patting Alice reassuringly on the hand. 'That way you won't get any horrible answers.'

'I know, but-'

'Come on, lovely,' said Moira, giving Sam a wink as she got to her feet. 'It's time us girls got our beauty sleep.'

Sam watched in amusement as Moira practically lifted Alice out of the chair. Both women looked as tired as he felt.

'You're not going back home now, are you?' Alice asked him, frowning.

Sam glanced at Archie who gave him a subtle nod.

'No, I'll crash down here tonight.'

'That's right,' grinned Archie. 'The more the merrier at a time like this. There's a spare room you can have, Sam.'

Alice nodded, satisfied. The men watched Moira lead her out of the kitchen. As soon as they disappeared, Archie nudged Sam enthusiastically in the side.

'Don't say a word,' Sam whispered. 'Moira's already-'

'Okay, son,' laughed Archie, pouring them each another drink. 'Has your day been as tough as it looks?'

Sam thought about the funeral. The altercation in the cemetery. The wild goose chase trying to hunt down Stephen Smith. Erica's sudden death.

'Yes, Arch. It's been quite a day.'

Sam was up and out early next morning, strolling leisurely along the sea front. This was his favourite time of the day in Newgate. Hardly a soul around. The bracing air blowing inland off the sea. The sound of gulls squawking. He found the sheer desolation of it all quite something.

He thought of last night's dreams as he walked. The serene images of his wife and daughter, skipping happily through fields of brightly coloured flowers, turning back regularly to smile at him, calling for him to catch them up. He tried. God knows he tried, but in his dream, they were always too far out of reach. He had watched them slip away...

Then he dreamt of Geoffrey and Erica. Or their younger versions, at least. Out and about in pre-war Newgate, riding through the countryside on cumbersome bicycles, heading to secluded fields for picnics with their friends. His dreams were like old black and white movies, full of innocent teenagers drinking dandelion and burdock, chasing each other playfully in lush meadows, uninhibited by their starched collars or long, flowing dresses. They had been easy scenes for Sam to watch in his sleep.

Now, enjoying the fresh air and early morning solitude, he wondered again why someone would want to harm two elderly people.

***

Sam ran it through his head as he walked back to the pub.

If the deaths of Geoffrey and Erica were as suspicious as he believed, then logic decreed the pair had something in common. Something that had triggered this man's interest in them. The only ties he was aware of was Marjorie, being Geoffrey's wife and Erica's cousin, and the time they had known each other as youngsters. Marjorie wasn't around to provide any answers, so the only option was to dig around in the past.

Over half a century ago.

Sam was under no illusions, that was a hell of a long time ago. There would be few people still alive from that time.

Sam was stumped before he even began. Where was he to start? He knew from the funeral that none of Geoffrey's peers were still alive. Benjamin's father had outlived all his comrades down at the Ex-Servicemen's Club. There were no family or friends Sam could call on for bygone tales. No next door neighbours to reveal all about the youthful Geoffrey.

What about Erica? Sam wondered if there was still anyone around who knew her from those days. Then he remembered something she had said at the wake, about a group of them knocking about together as youngsters. Herself, Marjorie and Geoffrey. There had been a couple of other names. Sam racked his brains, recalling one of the surnames had been unusual. Dunker. That was it. What was the first name? Bobby. No, Billy. That's right. Billy Dunker. Almost immediately, the second name came to him. Joe Sale. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

Sam left Archie a message on his phone, picked up his car and drove back to his flat, where he washed and changed while waiting for the laptop to fire up. In the bathroom, he took the opportunity to inspect himself in the mirror. The cuts and bruises to his face were healing up nicely. The same couldn't be said for his leg. Although the pain was minimal this morning, the bruising on his thigh had spread, leaving an ugly hue of black and blue covering the top of his leg.

Sam shrugged. As long as it didn't stop him getting about.

On the laptop, he found the website for births, deaths and marriages in Newgate. While the basic information was free to view, the relevant certificate had to be purchased for more in-depth details. Sam tried the obvious one first. Billy Dunker. There couldn't be many with that moniker in the whole country, let alone Newgate.

He wasn't wrong. The system brought up just one Billy Dunker. Born 1925. Married 1948. Died 2009. Well, that was straightforward. He tried Joe Sale next. The screen brought up hundreds of Joe Sales. Sam groaned. This was going to take some time.

He worked his way through the list methodically, realising the task wasn't as horrendous as he first imagined. Erica had mentioned the group of friends were all in the same class together, and Sam knew that Geoffrey was born in 1925, so he could eliminate anyone born more than a year either side of that. Sam narrowed it down to seven, of which only two were still alive.

Sam looked in the latest phone book. Experience had taught him elderly people were more inclined to maintain land-line phones. They also tended to be less likely to go ex-directory. Sam's summarisations were spot on. Two Joe Sales were listed, complete with addresses. He looked at his watch. Another few minutes and it would be a respectable time to go calling on strangers on a Sunday morning.

Inspired by this minor progress, Sam went on an ancestry website, where he found Erica's family tree from her birthplace and date of birth. She had been an only child. Her father had no siblings, her mother just the one sister, Marjorie's mother. That meant no other cousins. Sam did the same with Geoffrey. The results were just as barren. No brothers and sisters. Three cousins, all deceased.

Sam sighed at the findings. He knew it was a long shot, trying to hunt down clues so far back, limited to asking only those from the same generation as Geoffrey and Erica.

There had to be someone out there who had answers.

It was just a matter of finding them.

***

The first property he called at was a pleasant semi-detached house overlooking a public park. On the drive stood a people carrier with all manner of child-friendly accessories littering the seats and windows. On the compact front lawn sat a discarded tricycle. Gazing up at the smaller bedroom window, Sam could make out curtains adorned with cartoon characters. Most definitely a house containing children.

He knocked on the door, holding out little hope of finding the Joe Sale he was looking for. Nobody answered. No inquisitive children with too much energy to burn. No bleary-eyed parents with patience running thin.

An elderly gentleman came out of the house next door and loaded golf clubs into the back of his estate car. Noticing Sam looking at a loss, the neighbour told him the family were out. The parents liked to take their three young children out every Sunday on a day trip, making the most of the fine summer weather. Sam asked about Joe Sale. The man shook his head, informing him Joe had moved permanently into a care home some months ago. That sounded promising until he added Joe had only returned to Newgate a couple of years ago. He had moved away with his family when he was just six years old, living at the other end of the country until his recent return.

That ruled one lead out.

The other address he had was on the outskirts of Newgate, where the pleasant suburbs changed to tranquil countryside. He found the property, a secluded cottage, tucked away at the bottom of a narrow, winding lane. Access right up to the cottage was denied by a battered old Range Rover parked haphazardly across the lane, forcing Sam to leave his car behind it and walk the rest of the way. As he set off on the short walk, the sun appeared  from behind the clouds. Suddenly, the countryside around him seemed to spring into life. Birds started calling high above him, while the bright sunshine accentuated the array of vivid colours nestling amongst the shrubbery. Sam thought the serene location an ideal spot to get away from it all.

The cottage itself didn't quite match up to the idyllic surroundings. The front garden was unkept, the grass either side of the path almost knee height. The gate was hanging loosely off its hinges, the old wooden window frames were starting to rot away, and the front door badly needed a fresh coat of paint. As with the previous property, Sam got no reply when he rapped on the door. Thick grey curtains were drawn across the front window, blocking any view into the living area. Sam took a wander around both sides of the cottage, noticing an overgrown vegetable patch and discarded planks of wood. A rusting motorbike, partially covered by a dirty tarpaulin, stood forsaken on the grass. A fence ran along both sides of the cottage, preventing any access to the back garden. Disgruntled, Sam returned to the car. He had just climbed inside when he spotted the twitch of a curtain in one of the cottage's upstairs windows. Sam smiled and got back out. Not everyone wanted to get up at the crack of dawn on a Sunday.

He returned up the path and gave the door another lively rasp. It took time, but eventually a man answered, a hammer in his hand and an impatient look on his face.

'Yes?'

Sam studied the man. He was slightly younger than Sam, in his thirties, with a mop of black curly hair and a tanned face. He was just shy of six foot tall, with a lean, wiry frame and muscular forearms. A man used to toiling outdoors, not afraid of hard work. He was wearing a paint-splattered t-shirt and scruffy jeans that hung off his waist.

Sam took a step forward.

'Sorry to bother you, mate. I'm looking for a Joe Sale.'

'You've found him. What do you want?'

Sam was struck by a feeling of deja-vu. This man was far too young. Another dead end.

'I was looking for someone older, a man in his eighties. It's obviously not-'

'That'll be my grandfather. I was named after him. He died a couple of weeks ago. What did you want with him?'

A couple of weeks? Sam sighed. So close again. Perhaps that's why the death hadn't been recorded yet. It was too recent.

'A friend of his passed away recently. The family asked me to let people know. Apparently, your grandfather and her were-'

'Her?'

'Yes, a lady called Erica Wright. She was in this country for the funeral of another friend, Geoffrey Compton, when she had a heart attack. The three of them-'

'Never heard of them,' said Joe Sale Jr curtly. 'Not that it matters now the old man has passed on.'

'Your grandfather never mentioned them?'

'No, he didn't. Now, if that's it, I've got work to be getting back to...'

Joe took a step back and started to shut the door. Sam saw his one and only lead slipping away.

'Hold on, Mr Sale. Just one more question.'

Joe didn't look particularly enamoured at being kept from his work.

'What is it?' he snapped.

'Can I ask how your grandfather died?'

Joe Sale gave Sam an incredulous look.

'What business-'

'Look, I know it's a personal question,' said Sam, trying to placate the man. 'I don't mean to-'

'A bit personal?' cried Joe, looking angry now. 'Who do you think you are coming here asking stuff like that? If you must know, my grandfather died in his sleep. I held his hand as he took his last breath. Now, get away from here before I-'

Sam held his hands up.

'Okay, I'm going. I never meant-'

The door was slammed in his face.

Sam got back into his car and stewed for some time. He knew he had pushed that one too far, so desperate had he been to make the most of his final opportunity. Now, with no more names to chase down, he felt as though he had truly hit a brick wall.

***

On his way back to his flat, Sam took a lengthy detour. He drove past Geoffrey's cottage and noticed a For Sale board had been erected outside during the weekend. He carried on to the Ex-Servicemen's Club, where he saw Geoffrey's old friend, Harry, walking in through the door.

Life carries on, mused Sam.

Then he drove to Benjamin's place, cruising past the bungalow, noting the Volvo was nowhere to be seen. Sam presumed Benjamin was out seeing his brother back off to Scotland. On he continued, touring the places he had visited since the day Benjamin walked into his office, trying to conjure up some small clue he might have missed. Anything that might jog his memory. His journey took in the hotels in which Arnold and Erica had stayed, even Moira's apartment, her flower shop, the Barton Arms pub. Finally, he set off for the cemetery.

It seemed a fitting place to watch a case die a slow death.

Sam parked in exactly the same spot he had on the day of the funeral. The sun was high in the sky now, the scorching heat beating down on the cemetery, a complete contrast to the fierce storm that had accompanied Geoffrey's burial. Sam walked past the church and headed for Geoffrey's grave. He stood there for a few moments, paying his respects to someone he never knew in life. Gazing at the fresh pile of earth, Sam found himself muttering to a man who would never hear him.

'Come on, Geoffrey. Help me out here.'

Sam moved on, re-tracing his steps around the perimeter of the cemetery. He came to a halt at the bottom of the slight hill, re-living the frantic tumble back down the incline and the resulting collision with the tree. Sam gazed around him and sighed, recalling just how close he had come to apprehending the man behind this mystery. He had laid hands on him, tussled with him. It was looking unlikely he would get such a chance again.

Sam kicked the ground in frustration, sending a clump of turf flying through the air. He watched it land on the grass a few feet away, next to a beige-coloured piece of paper. Curious, he went over to take a closer look. The sheet of paper was dirty but still relatively fresh looking. He bent down and picked it up. Written on it was a list of some kind, scrawled in black ink. Sam found the writing practically illegible. Damp had caused the ink to run in places, while muddy smears made it difficult to pick out the words. Sam held the sheet of paper up to the light and squinted hard. Only one word was clearly decipherable.