Take Two

CHAPTER 43

There was a lot Carolyn Castle didn’t know about Maxwell Dunbar. She didn’t know he’d been in prison, for instance. He’d served three and a half years of a seven year sentence for GBH, which the police referred to as Grievous Bodily Harm but which Dunbar described as a Good Bloody Hiding. That was when he was much younger and, ever since, he’d made sure that if and when he did get physical with someone there were no witnesses, no CCTV and, ideally, a cast-iron alibi already prepared. She also didn’t know he paid policemen for information. Dunbar liked to give the impression he was once a police officer, a Flying Squad detective no less, but, in fact, he’d never been able to pass the medical. Ever since he had been a teenager he’d struggled with Type 2 diabetes and his doctor was now threatening to start him on insulin injections. But he did have friends on several police forces, though when it came to providing him with information they were friends who needed cash in a brown envelope before they’d come up with the goods. Carolyn also didn’t know the truth about how Dunbar had dealt with her stalker. A detective friend of Dunbar’s had printed off the man’s Police National Computer file and, after reading, it Dunbar had realised a softly-softly approach wasn’t going to work. The stalker’s name was Thomas Bale and he’d been in and out of mental institutions for most of his adult life. He was thirty-seven, had an IQ of borderline retarded, and had schizophrenia that was just about controlled by medication. Carolyn wasn’t the first actress he’d fixated on. One of the stars of Emmerdale had taken out a restraining order against him after he’d turned up on her doorstep with a bunch of roses.

Carolyn had made it clear she didn’t want to take legal action against Bale because of the publicity it would create. And until Bale actually physically threatened or assaulted her, the police wouldn’t do anything. Dunbar went around to see Bale to see if he could talk some sense into him but it was clear within the first few minutes that wasn’t going to happen. He was a small weasely man with no chin and an annoying stammer and he kept insisting his human rights meant he was free to talk to whoever he wanted and there was no law against him writing to her or even standing outside her house. Bale spent a lot of time on the internet and he was able to quote his rights at length, so Dunbar had just nodded and listened. When Bale had finished speaking, Dunbar had slipped a set of brass knuckledusters onto his right hand and then punched Bale where most men had a chin, breaking his jaw and splintering his teeth. Dunbar had then grabbed Bale by the throat and told him if he ever contacted Carolyn Castle again, he would come back with a gun. Then he’d hit him in the groin, hard. He’d left Bale curled up in a ball on the floor and the next day he’d billed Carolyn for two grand.

Dunbar was sitting in his front room with a glass of whisky and Coke and his mobile phone on the coffee table in front of him, considering his options. He knew Warwick Richards, or at least knew of him. And one thing he knew for sure was that Warwick Richards wouldn’t be warned off with a knuckle duster. The honest thing to do would be to draw up a brief report on Richards and tell Carolyn not to go near him with or without a bargepole. But if he did that, he’d only be able to bill her for a few hundred. If he was lucky, he might get to keep the five hundred she’d given him. He’d paid the cheque into his bank first thing on Monday morning and it was now Wednesday and it had cleared. The last thing he wanted to do was to start handing back money. Besides, Carolyn Castle had more money than she could shake a stick at.

There was a way he could squeeze more money from the situation, but that would mean taking a risk. He took another gulp of whisky and reached for his phone. He tapped out the number from the business card Carolyn had given him. When Richards answered he sounded angry. ‘Who the fuck is this?’

‘You don’t know me Mr Richards but…’

‘If I don’t know you why the fuck are you calling this number?’ asked Richards.

‘I just want…’

‘Fuck what you want,’ snarled Richards. ‘This is my personal phone, you call me again and I’ll track you down and break your legs.’

Richards ended the call. Dunbar took the phone away from his ear and looked at it. ‘Nice,’ he muttered. He took another pull at his whisky, then tapped out an SMS. Two words. ‘Carolyn Castle.’

Ten seconds after he sent the message the phone rang. Dunbar grinned and let it ring for a while before taking the call. ‘Yes?’ he said.

‘Who the fuck are you?’

‘The name’s Maxwell Dunbar. And we need to talk.’

‘About what?’

‘You got my message. You know about what.’

‘And?’

‘She’s a client of mine,’ said Dunbar.

‘Is that right?’ said Richards.

‘That’s right.’

‘And what are you? Her lawyer?’

‘I’m a private detective,’ said Dunbar. ‘Look, we need to meet.’

‘I don’t think we do,’ said Richards.

‘We need to talk.’

‘About what?’

‘I don’t think you really want to do this over the phone, do you?’

There was a long pause. ‘Okay,’ said Richards eventually. ‘Give me your address and I’ll come around.’

‘To be honest, I’d prefer somewhere a bit more public,’ said Dunbar. ‘You’ve got a bit of a reputation. Where are you?’

‘Who the fuck do you think you are, asking me where I am? What’s it to you where I am?’

‘I was just trying to make your life a bit easier, that’s all,’ said Dunbar. ‘If you were in the club, I could come up West.’

‘You wanna come to the club?’

‘For fuck’s sake no. I’m not doing the lion’s den thing. But I can see you in Leicester Square.’

‘Can you be there in two hours?’

Dunbar looked at his watch. ‘Nah, I’ve got something on. But I can be there at eight. But I need you to be there on your own, okay?’

‘And how will I recognise you?’

‘I’ll recognise you,’ said Dunbar. There were two printed sheets on the coffee table next to the bottle of whisky. Information from the Police National Computer, including a head and shoulders photograph. ‘I want you to come on your own.’

‘Fuck that,’ said Richards. ‘I don’t know you from Adam.’

‘Well if you do bring someone, make sure they keep their distance. I don’t think you’d want anyone listening in on what I’ve got to tell you.’ Dunbar cut the connection and drained his glass. He smiled. So far, so good.