Bad Tidings

SEVEN

Henry had been ejected from a lot worse places. He hadn’t expected a warm welcome and they were right to be distrustful of his motives — all crims were — but it was frustrating to be hoofed out without being given the chance to fully explain why he had turned up on the doorstep. He knew he could have forced the issue and made Terry pin his ears back, but that could have been counterproductive.

Their reaction to the possibility that Freddy fitted the profile of a serial killer victim would have either been laugh-out-loud dismissed, or taken so seriously it could have got out of hand. So, Henry had thought as he threw his big Teddy out of his cot, if they wanted to be twats to him, he’d be a twat to them.

The best course of action would be to back out gracefully, then go home and get laid. No contest. Or would have been if it hadn’t been for two things.

The first happened as, led by Janine, he walked down the hallway ahead of Terry Cromer. As he passed the door that had been closed when he’d arrived, the one behind which he’d heard male voices, it opened.

Henry could not help but glance to his right.

And just for the instant that the door was open — and it was opened by a man he instantly recognized — Henry glimpsed three other men in what was a large dining room. It was literally a glimpse. A man at the door, three at a table, and on the table a revolver and a sawn-off shotgun, side by side. The door was immediately slammed shut — because, also in that instant, the man who had opened it knew he had been clocked, and Henry could tell from his instantaneous expression of grief that he had committed a faux pas, or in his language, a fucking cock-up.

Henry walked on, internally jolted, but pretending he’d seen nothing. Janine went out of the front door ahead of him and collared the dogs.

As he stepped out, and Terry slammed the door behind him, the second thing happened.

Janine hissed, just loud enough for him to hear, ‘Park up the road and wait for me.’ Then louder, she said, ‘I’ve got the dogs, you’ll be safe.’

Henry didn’t acknowledge either statement, but set off for the gate and out to his car, dropping into it and heaving a big sigh. Then, as instructed in the stage whisper, he drove a couple of hundred metres up the lane, did a three-point turn and parked, lights out, engine idling.

Inside him, his own pistons were pumping. Guns on the table.

And the dining room door had been opened by none other than Iron-man William Grasson, or Bill the Grass as he was known with irony. Henry knew that in the organizational chart of the Cromer crime business, Grasson fitted in very nicely, thank you, as a violent enforcer, a vicious man once convicted of cutting off another man’s little finger with garden shears when chasing up a hundred-pound drug debt.

Henry had recognized him straight away, because Grasson was a difficult man not to know. Although he was an enforcer, he had himself once come a cropper when he encountered a couple of other rival enforcers chasing his debt. They branded him with the triangular and unmistakable imprint of a steam iron, hence the ‘Iron-man’ epithet. He was scarily recognizable, even to Henry, who had never met the man before.

From what he’d seen of the other men in the room, he didn’t know them, but they seemed equally appealing.

Henry worked through the scenario. Not the nicest bunch of people to invite around for Christmas dinner. He guessed that in the normal course of events, guys like these would only be at the family homestead for two reasons — protection or attack.

Or was he being totally preposterous?

Perhaps the Cromers always invited their best staff around at Christmas, then they could all share their war stories for the last year. The best drugs deal I made. That bloke’s finger I snapped off. That lad’s head I broke. . that rival’s brains I blew out.

Perhaps the guns were merely Christmas pressies.

But knowing what he did about the lifestyles of the rich and criminal, their presence unsettled him.

And on top of that, Janine, daughter of Terry Cromer.

Henry didn’t even know he had a daughter.

A deranged, ultra-violent son, yes, but not a daughter, and one who at first glance didn’t seem to fit the profile of the rest of the tribe. But that didn’t mean anything. Looks could be deceptive.

Just as he was wondering what she wanted, there was a thud and a scraping noise at the car door. Henry jumped, twisted sideways and looked into a pair of menacing eyes. He almost let out a squeak — one of the Cromer dogs was looking at him, leaving a snotty nose print on the window.

Suddenly the head was dragged away sharply as Janine brought the dog under control, leaned forward in its place and looked into Henry’s eyes. ‘Is it unlocked?’ she asked.

He nodded, and she walked around the car and dropped into the passenger seat, trapping the dog’s lead in the door so it could not wander off.

Henry looked at her, confirming her good looks. ‘Didn’t see you coming.’

‘Back way.’

Henry could actually smell her, a mix of nice perfume and cigarette smoke on her breath. It was quite alluring in a strange sort of way. He raised his eyebrows. ‘So?’

‘I wanted to tell you about Freddy.’

‘The missing man — or the missing man, not?’

‘He’s definitely missing and Gran is worried about him.’

‘I’ll make sure he’s circulated.’

‘Dad’s right, isn’t he?’

‘About what?’

‘You turning up. You’re just being nosy, aren’t you? Just an excuse to get into our house, isn’t it? I mean, a detective superintendent — pah!’ She glared accusingly at him.

‘Why are you here? Does your dad know?’

‘No.’

‘Then why?’

‘I wanted to make sure you treated Freddy’s disappearance seriously and didn’t get the huff just because you got kicked out of the house.’

‘Every missing person is treated seriously,’ Henry told her, ‘but what the police do about them is based on the surrounding circumstances. . so I’ll leave Freddy to the local cops and see how it pans out.’

‘Just so you know — Freddy’s not well.’

Henry stared cynically at her, but desisted from saying, ‘He never was.’

‘He kind of comes and goes, but for the last few years his medication’s kept him stable. But if he doesn’t get it he becomes very paranoid and unstable and he can be quite nasty.’

‘But why has he been reported missing?’

‘He had a big fallout with Dad last night and stormed off into town. He hadn’t taken his pills that morning and it doesn’t take him long to revert to type. And he definitely hasn’t taken any today, either.’

‘So he could be chewing carpets somewhere?’

Janine looked fiercely at him. ‘Not funny.’

‘I didn’t know Terry had a daughter.’

‘I’m the black sheep of the family. University and a proper job. Never got involved in any of the. . you know.’

‘Shenanigans?’ Henry chewed his bottom lip for a moment. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked.

‘What d’you mean?’

‘In there.’ He thumbed at the house. ‘Bill Grasson, some more salty-looking dudes and guns.’

Janine’s face constricted. ‘Don’t know, don’t want to know,’ she said, sounding offended. ‘I just want to get Freddy back in one piece. Yeah, he could end up eating carpets, as you so colourfully put it, but he could also end up doing someone some harm — or himself. He needs finding.’

Henry recalled Freddy’s hands squeezing his windpipe. He sighed. ‘Where do I start looking?’

‘I could show you. I know some places he hangs around.’

Henry nodded. ‘Are we taking the dog?’ It was tempting to set off with the beast attached to the car.

‘Wait here. I’ll sneak Damian back in and be back in ten minutes.’

While he waited, he selected a Miles Davis track on the car’s iPod. He’d been trying to get into jazz, but was so far failing. He liked jazz and blues singers, but couldn’t quite get to grips with instrumentalists, though he did appreciate their talent. He was becoming convinced it wasn’t for him.

He was considering what he should do about the firearms he’d seen, which, he now assumed, would be hard to find. It wasn’t practical to go back mob-handed with a bunch of his hairy-arsed colleagues, at least not on Christmas Day, nor Boxing Day. Getting enough police staff together to do anything on these particular days would be almost impossible.

The best thing to do, he concluded, was to hold on to the knowledge, because it might come in useful at some future date — if he needed a warrant, for example. Deep down he did feel he should be bursting in, kicking down their door, just for the hell of it. He hadn’t kicked a door down for ages and he was going through withdrawal symptoms. Maybe it was unbecoming for a man of his years — bursting into people’s houses was a young cop’s game — but it was addictive. However, it was now his job to step carefully over the resultant carnage after entry had been gained, not to lead the charge.

The passenger door opened. Janine dropped in alongside Henry, no dog in tow.

‘You sure about this?’

‘Yeah — it’ll be all right.’

‘Where are we going?’

‘Head for Blackburn.’

‘So — home for Christmas?’

‘Something like that.’

‘Where do you live and work?’

‘Manchester,’ Janine said. Henry waited, but she made no attempt to give him any further information.

‘What is work?’

She shrugged. ‘A law firm, dealing mainly with accident claims. Boring but necessary for the time being. I’d like to get into corporate law.’

‘You’re a solicitor?’

‘Yep.’

‘Well, good for you. Criminal law?’

‘No,’ she said strongly.

‘Good for you,’ he said again, not sure if he believed a word of it, though she did seem genuine. That could have something to do with the fact she was a Cromer. As far as Henry was concerned, they were all pretty much liars.

‘Go right here,’ she instructed him. He scooped around a roundabout onto Shadsworth Road. ‘There’s a club in Knuzden he likes,’ she explained.

Henry knew that Shadsworth Road dropped down into the area called Knuzden, on the eastern outskirts of Blackburn.

‘So what happened to Freddy?’ he asked.

‘What do you mean?’

‘In between the time he almost killed his aunt by dropping her out of a window, strangled me, and got sent to mental institutions, and now.’

‘Just that.’ She kept her face forward. ‘All I know is what I’ve been told, really. . I wasn’t even born when that happened.’ She gave Henry a sly, amused look. ‘Which must make you really old. . I mean, were you really the cop he tried to kill?’

‘I was.’ Henry could have said it proudly, but he didn’t. It was a long time ago and it still mortified him that a teenager had pinned him down. Even a big one.

‘Mm, I’ve heard about it, obviously. But he got moved from place to place. Got better, got out, went mad again, got locked up again. Vicious circle. Eventually they stopped taking him back when the secure units became more scarce with cutbacks and the drugs got better. He’s just another care in the community stat, I guess.’

‘How long has he been home?’

‘Couple, three years. Gran wanted to have him back, but he’s too much of a handful when he goes off the rails. And Dad doesn’t have any time for him. Usually just beats him up — Dad beats Freddy, that is.’

‘Out of curiosity, which one of those ladies I just saw was your mother?’ He tried not to put too much of an inflection on the word ‘ladies’.

‘None. . she went years back,’ she said, but did not elaborate.

Henry drove on. To his right was the huge Shadsworth council estate, a grim sixties throwback that Henry remembered well from his early days as a uniformed cop, and subsequently on a few murder enquiries. And sat alongside him was the daughter of one of Lancashire’s best crims. He couldn’t resist asking again, ‘Come on, what’s going on? All the guns ’n’ stuff?’

Janine remained silent as they reached the traffic lights at the bottom of the hill, at the junction with the main road that connected Blackburn with Accrington. She said, ‘Do a right here and the club’s on the right. . just called The Moss.’

Henry knew it. It had been there for as long as he could remember and didn’t look as though it had ever seen any decoration. It was a single-storey, detached premises, constructed of Accrington brick with metal grilles on all the windows which were never removed, and a roller-shutter that covered the door when the place was closed. Henry knew it must have been refurbished at least a couple of times over the years because it had been firebombed twice. It was basically a very grotty working men’s club.

He pulled into the almost empty car park.

‘Freddy likes this place. They don’t mind giving him booze, but they know when to stop — mainly because he trashed it single-handed once after too much.’

‘OK,’ Henry said and reached for the door handle.

Janine laid a hand on his arm. ‘Mr Christie, whatever my family is involved in, I can’t help. I don’t have any part in it, but I’m not going to grass on them either. They’re my family and I care about them. I won’t betray them.’

‘Fair do’s.’

Henry got out and, with Janine beside him, he walked to the front door of the club and entered.

He stood inside the threshold and surveyed the geography and clientele. One long bar served the whole place. There was a small raised stage in one corner with a tatty-looking drum kit on it. Bench seats clung to the outside walls and battered-looking brass-topped circular tables and chairs were scattered throughout. Music played from speakers hung up high and there were eight middle-aged men, in four pairs, sitting either at the bar or the tables, or playing the gaming machine. They all looked to be drinking mild, a type of beer Henry hadn’t tasted for a long, long time. For good reason.

Smoke hung in the air. It appeared that the non-smoking legislation did not apply to this particular enclave of society, and each man, without exception, was smoking. That included the barman, who watched Henry and Janine approach with a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth.

For a brief moment Henry’s feet got completely stuck in something on the sticky carpet and he thought he might not make it across the floor. He had to stop and roll his shoes out of whatever it was. Very sticky.

With his face a picture to behold, he carried on up to the bar.

The man behind it could have been aged somewhere between forty and sixty, but many years of serious drinking and smoking had taken its toll on his complexion and his pock-marked face, bulbous red nose, veined face and watery bloodshot eyes told the story, as did his rasping voice.

‘Can I do for you guys?’ he asked his new customers. He took a deep drag on his fag and blew a thick cloud up amongst the rows of cleanish glasses that hung above the bar.

‘I’m looking for Freddy Cromer,’ Henry said, wafting a path through the haze of smoke.

The barman regarded him. ‘Who might you be?’

Henry revealed his warrant card and county badge. ‘A cop.’

The barman remained unimpressed. ‘Don’t know him.’

Henry said, ‘He’s a regular, apparently.’

The barman shrugged, replaced the cigarette between his lips, inhaled and exhaled again.

‘What’s this? Licensee-customer confidentiality?’

‘No. Just don’t know the guy. Can I get you a drink?’

‘Can I get you the local authority?’

‘Already had ’em. Didn’t make much difference.’

‘Excuse me.’ Janine eased Henry gently aside and stepped into the breach. ‘I’m Janine Cromer. Freddy’s my uncle. Terry Cromer is my dad.’ She allowed those names to permeate the barman’s smoke-addled grey matter, knowing they carried great weight. ‘Was Freddy in here last night? Simple question.’

‘Yes,’ he answered instantly, a changed man.

Janine waited for more information and when it didn’t come, she opened her palms in a gesture designed to encourage him.

‘Yes, he was here.’

‘Times? Was he drunk? When did he leave? Who was he with?’

‘Uh. . landed about seven, left at midnight. He’d had a few and was alone,’ the barman blurted. ‘Just normal, I’d say.’

‘He left here in one piece?’

‘No one messes with him,’ the barman said. ‘He gets left alone, he leaves others alone. That’s how it works with him.’

‘I assume you actually spoke to him?’ Janine said.

‘Only to get him drinks. Other than that he just sat in his usual place — over in that corner by the drums.’ He pointed to the spot by the stage.

‘How did he seem?’ Henry asked.

The barman shrugged. ‘Like I said, just usual.’

‘Did anyone else talk to him?’

‘Not that I recall. Y’know, we were pretty busy last night, Christmas Eve and all that.’

‘Yeah — the place looks well festive,’ Henry said. The barman shot him a look.

‘OK,’ Janine said, ‘let’s go. There’s other places he could’ve gone to.’ She took Henry’s arm. Henry nodded at the barman but refrained from threatening the local authority again. Like the man said, it probably wouldn’t be much use.

Outside it was chilly. Snowflakes wafted gently down from the heavens.

‘White Christmas,’ Henry said, catching a few flakes in his hand, hoping it wouldn’t be too heavy a snowfall otherwise the journey to Kendleton would be a nightmare. They walked over to his car and got in.

‘Right,’ Janine said stiffly, turning to him. ‘Can you now tell me why you’re interested in Freddy’s disappearance? It isn’t a job for a detective superintendent, is it?’

‘It could be,’ Henry said defiantly.

‘Only if he’s gone missing in suspicious circumstances — or, God forbid, turns up dead in suspicious circumstances. At the moment none of those things apply. So — were you just being nosy, or is there another reason?’

‘Well, I’d be a poor cop if I didn’t take the chance to look into the house of a big bad gangster, wouldn’t I?’

Janine uttered an exasperated gush of breath. ‘I bloody thought so.’

‘Actually,’ Henry began — just as his mobile phone started to ring. He took it out and answered it. ‘Jerry. . you still not gone home?’

‘No — too engrossed,’ Jerry Tope said. ‘Just had the FIM on again. . are you still in Belthorn?’ Henry said yes, as good as. ‘In that case you might want to get to the A amp;E department at Royal Blackburn Hospital. Shit’s hit the fan. . there’s an ARV on the way. . and Freddy Cromer’s turned up saying he’s just escaped from a kidnapper. He’s also waving a kitchen knife about and has taken a nurse hostage.’