Between Two Thieves Read online

  “Get off her!” snapped Mark.

  Eddie made a face. “Ken, get rid of him will you.”

  “No problem,” said the other man. He stepped around Joanne as she tried to pull herself free, but Eddie’s grip tightened on her.

  “Mark!” she said in alarm.

  “I’m not going without you,” he said.

  The leering Ken reached for him, palms out, hands flat, trying to push him outside and shut the door. Mark stood his ground as the first shove came. He watched the shifty one try to drag Joanne towards the stairs.

  “Now, now, play nice,” he said.

  “Joanne!” called Mark. The leery man struck Mark in the chest and he stumbled back against the wall. Mark lost his balance and started to fall. Ken reached again to take advantage, shoving him falling towards the open front door out towards the messy front garden and the street outside. Mark knew he was going to get hurt, but there was no way he could leave. Seeing the panic on Mark’s face, guessing what the men intended, Joanne growled with effort and yanked herself away from Eddie and made for the open door. Mark started to pull himself up on the doorframe as Ken turned to block Joanne’s way. “Get out of my way!” she roared. But the guy laughed in her face. Mark snatched in a breath, took a moment to push past his panic. He picked a target. The only thing he could think of was to kick out at the man, to distract him to buy Joanne a chance at escape. As the guy reached for Joanne, he lashed out, kicking hard. The man’s leg buckled and he stumbled forward into Joanne. He knocked her back towards Eddie, who seized her, his arms threading beneath hers. It was the worst possible outcome.

  “Gotcha,” he said.

  “No, no, no!” shouted Mark. The leering man turned and stood up, more eager to shut him out than he was to get any revenge. Mark pushed himself at the door and shoved in hard. The door stayed wide open, slamming against the inside wall.

  The leering man wiped his sweaty forehead and stepped forwards, ready to give Mark the beating he needed to send him packing. But as soon as he started towards him, the man stopped in his tracks once more. The light from the street was blotted out by a shadow.

  “What the hell’s going on here?” said Dan.

  But even before he’d finished asking the question Dan saw it all. The shifty guy with his hands all over Joanne, the girl off balance but fighting hard as the man tried to pull her towards the stairs, and the guy blocking Mark from helping his girlfriend. The picture told a thousand words. Dan stepped into the narrow hallway and both men’s faces changed. Eddie let go of Joanne. But it was too late for small gestures. Dan grabbed Ken by the throat and slammed him back against the wall, hard enough to wind him completely. Which left Dan free long enough to deal with the second threat. He reached for Joanne, tugging her free, letting her out into the open alongside Mark.

  “I didn’t mean any harm,” said Eddie. “I just wanted to show her something.”

  But Dan didn’t hesitate. He pushed the man against the bannisters and leaned into his face.

  “I know your kind. I know exactly what harm you intended.”

  “You don’t know anything about me,” said the guy.

  Dan looked between each of his dark, shifty eyes, and saw all he needed to know. The potted biography as well as his dark intentions. Dan grabbed his collar, thrust him back against the shaking bannisters, and smashed him once in the face. He let the guy go, dropping him to the floor, his back sliding against the bannister, and then Dan turned and nodded towards the sunshine.

  “Let’s go.”

  The rest of the house appeared in the chicane from the back room. The Brazilian lookalike, his girlfriend, and the bespectacled man Dan guessed had to be Colin Boyd.

  “What’s going on out here?” said the man, shaking.

  “You’re Colin Boyd?” said Dan.

  The man seemed hesitant but nodded anyway.

  “We’re looking for Carl Renton. We want to help him. Do you have any idea where he might be? Any idea at all?”

  The man shook his head and pushed his glasses back up his nose. “I told your friends the same.”

  Dan sighed and looked around at the rest of the murky, untrustworthy faces in the hallway.

  “How long has this house been running?”

  “This one? Just over a year,” said Boyd.

  Dan nodded. “Then take my advice. Get control of this place or close it now.”

  “I can’t just close it. These people live here!”

  “You’d better, Mr Boyd, because without Carl Renton around it’s plain to see you’re not running the show. You had no idea what was happening out here, did you?”

  The man fell silent.

  “I can’t do this without Carl!” he said.

  “There, you said it. So shape up or shut it down before something bad happens.”

  Dan gave them all a look of warning, then straightened himself up and turned away.

  “If you find Carl, tell him to call me. Tell him it’s urgent.” Boyd’s words were a desperate appeal. They sounded like the last throw of the dice. Dan barely looked back. His attention was already on Joanne and Mark. They made sure they were a good way from the house before Eva started on them.

  “What the hell did you think you were doing?”

  “Trying to help,” said Mark.

  “Really?” said Eva. “Getting yourself into that predicament? Did you think that was going to help us?”

  “We went in to ask them about Carl Renton,” said Joanne. “None of that was supposed to happen.”

  “Damn right it wasn’t,” said Dan. “Just in case you need reminding, this business isn’t a game. Or these people. I lived in their world, Joanne. It isn’t like ours. It’s cutthroat. Survival of the fittest. I’m not exaggerating. And before we’re finished looking for Carl Renton we might well have to face people a darn sight more dangerous than those idiots in there. So, do us a favour, and do what you’re told. At least until you know what you’re doing.”

  “I knew what I was doing,” said Joanne.

  Dan opened his mouth but Eva cut in.

  “And it almost went badly wrong, didn’t it?”

  Joanne sighed and nodded her head.

  “Then learn from it,” she said, turning away for the car. “What did you get from them?”

  “Carl Renton really is missing,” said Mark. “The rehab house manager was calling an emergency meeting about it. It was plain to see he was panicking. No one knows where Renton went, but that scumbag with the shifty eyes had a theory that Renton was trying to handle a local drug dealer all by himself.”

  Eva nodded and glanced at Dan.

  “The same theory we heard at the alcoholics’ house,” she said.

  “Then we know the man’s missing, and we know the rumours, but we’ve still got no real leads,” said Dan.

  “Then you think the houses were a dead end?” said Joanne.

  “Mostly,” said Eva. “The rumours are instructive, but nothing more.”

  “So what do we do now?” said Joanne.

  “What now?” said Dan. “You keep out of trouble, that’s what.”

  “We try another angle,” said Eva. “We could talk to the police about Aaron Clancy’s missing items. The police might know if there’s any link to Renton.”

  “It’s a missing person case, Eva,” said Dan. “The police won’t be interested in a missing person case until forty-eight hours has elapsed. You know that as well as I do.”

  “But they’ll have seen it was in the papers, so it’ll be on their radar ahead of time. And Clancy’s burglary is already on their radar. It’s got to be worth a try...”

  The silence between them was an answer in itself.

  Seven

  The journey to the office was quiet and any sense of a convivial happy day off had been replaced by the shock of their near miss. Wounds were being licked in the back seat. Dan was brooding too, though probably more because of the scumbags at the rehab than Mark and Joanne’s mistakes. Glad to
be out of the atmosphere in the car, Eva led the procession into the office beneath their apartment. Their agency office was an ex-shop space. An old-fashioned shop from the days before supermarkets. The interior had been redone at least twice in their time – once because of an arson attack – but the original shop bell was still mounted high on the wall and it still rang anytime the front door was opened. Mark took up his usual position at the front desk, where he manned phone and reception. Under normal circumstances, Joanne would have sat at his side, telling him what to do, but after her mistake at the rehab the girl raced past Eva to the kitchen at the rear. Eva saw the apology in her eyes. “Coffee?” said Joanne.

  Eva nodded back. “Please.” She offered a smile but did no more to ease the girl’s fears just yet. Best to let her have a short time to consider the consequences of her actions first.

  Eva retreated to the desk behind reception. She picked up her mobile and scanned her contact list, then dabbed a name and number which she hadn’t used for a good long while. Eva wondered how he would respond to her call. Hard to say. Most cops were cagey at the best of times, especially when dealing with private investigators, but Detective Inspector Joe Hogarth was a different prospect altogether. Sometimes an adversary, sometimes an ally, the man’s moods seemed to blow with the wind.

  Hogarth’s phone rang for so long she became convinced the man was ignoring her. She pulled the phone away from her ear and was all set to try someone else when a gruff voice sounded from the phone in her hand.

  “Miss Roberts. Long time no hear,” said Hogarth.

  Eva put the phone to her ear and summoned a smile to grease the call.

  “We’ve been busy, Inspector. You too no doubt.”

  “There’s always plenty to keep me on my toes in this town. There’s even enough for private investigators too,” said Hogarth. “Much as I’d love to chew the cud, my guess is that this isn’t just a social call.”

  “I’m afraid you’ve called my bluff,” said Eva.

  “A habit of the job,” said Hogarth.

  “Okay. Well, I doubt this is on your list of priorities,” said Eva. “But it has to do with the Saxon King exhibit. The one Councillor Audley borrowed from Southend Museum, and then promptly lost.”

  “Oh yes. That idiot,” said Hogarth. “Pride before a fall and all that.”

  “And it has a little do to with a break-in incident at a house in Chalkwell. One which would have been reported by a Mr Aaron Clancy, a man who happens to be a client of ours. It might also involve a man by the name of Carl Renton. A name you may have seen in the press.”

  “That’s a real dog’s dinner of issues there, Miss Roberts. And none of them sound like they’re in my line of work.”

  “But I think these could very well end up in your in-tray, Inspector. You might have heard that Mr Renton has gone missing.”

  “Yes, I’ve seen that nonsense in The Record. Looks like they’ve taken to manufacturing the news when they haven’t got anything to report,” said Hogarth.

  “That’s nothing new, believe me,” said Eva.

  “Renton’s rehab houses are well known among the police here but I can’t help you with Carl Renton himself. The man’s nowhere near officially missing as yet and there’s a whole queue of MisPers ahead of him in the pecking order. I did happen to hear about what our town’s beloved councillor had done. Took Southend’s new crown jewels back home to flash to his pals, and they got nicked right from under his nose. Now the councillor wants us to keep it under wraps for him so be doesn’t cop the fall-out. Sounds like that little genie is already well out of the bottle. Shame. As for your house break-in, can’t say I’m aware of it. And I’ve got no need to be, either. Not unless someone got themselves killed in the process. As they used to say in Woolworths, that’s not my department. Burglary that is.”

  “But I really think it might all be connected, DI Hogarth. You’ll likely hear about it soon enough.”

  “Come on then. What makes you think any of that mess could be connected?” said Hogarth.

  “They overlap. If I explained it all to you in detail it probably wouldn’t make much sense.”

  “It’s hardly making much now to be honest, Miss Roberts.”

  “Nor to me either, but it is still connected... You’ve heard nothing at all about Carl Renton?”

  “Another no, I’m afraid. I’ve seen The Record’s front-page article, but it’s been blown out of all proportion. A middle-aged man goes off the rails and disappears? He certainly isn’t the first to do that. That’s what I did when I packed in the Met.”

  “Going off the rails is hardly likely in this case. The man is a Christian activist.”

  “I know he runs the wet house and the drug house on Westerly Road because of his beliefs. Your Mr Renton does seem to believe in miracles but far as I know keeping the faith doesn’t prohibit a man from taking a sudden holiday.”

  “But a holiday unannounced? With all his responsibilities? It’s against the man’s nature and his routine.”

  “Yeah, I’ve read the article, Miss Roberts and I picked up all the innuendo and the panic Alice Perry wants to create. But half the people she interviewed will be in withdrawal because they haven’t seen any methadone since Thursday morning. It’s called clucking, Miss Roberts. When a junkie starts clucking they’ll say and do anything. Look, Mr Renton has barely been gone a day and The Record wants us to send out a search party. Alice Perry is off her head. That rag is always full of hyperbole and scandal, but she’s really overcooked this one. If Carl Renton turns up tomorrow morning, Alice Perry is going to have egg all over her face. If you ask me, it couldn’t happen to a nicer person.”

  “I think she ran with the piece as a gamble, Inspector. I know the girl. She’s like a shark. She’s smelt blood in the water and she’s chasing it for all she’s worth. I don’t know how she smelt it, but she did. And I think she could be right too.”

  “Yes, she’s a shark alright. Maybe you should be calling her for the inside track on this rather than me. None of us this end can do anything with it until it becomes a formal missing persons issue, and that’ll take time.”

  “But informally, Inspector...?” said Eva.

  “Why call me? Don’t you normally cultivate PC Dawson to do your bidding?”

  “That’s a little harsh even if it is true,” said Eva, hiding her embarrassment at the DI calling her out. “Dawson is a very helpful contact, but you work at a higher level. I was hoping you might see all the strands coming together from across the board.”

  “If you’re right, maybe I soon will. But presently, I don’t see it. Not even one of those strands.”

  Eva sighed, wondering if Hogarth was up to his old tricks of obfuscation, keeping the door closed and the investigation to himself. Eva’s silence must have revealed her thinking.

  “Miss Roberts. I don’t always appreciate your methods and I especially don’t appreciate your partner’s approach to a great many things. But I know we’ve managed to fix a few things along the way.”

  “We have,” said Eva. “Then you’ll let me know if you hear anything?”

  “Certainly. If it’s appropriate to do so,” said Hogarth.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Exactly what I said. I won’t jeopardise an investigation for the sake of pooling information but that said, I’ll see what I can do...”

  Eva wasn’t convinced. Hogarth was quiet at the other end before he offered a crumb of his thinking. The smallest symbol of his willingness to help.

  “Your client. Aaron Clancy. This break-in...”

  “Yes?”

  “Lost something of value, has he?”

  “Actually, a whole batch of very expensive things. But of those items, he’s pretty hot and bothered about a Celtic torq band. He says the police are holding it because they suspect it could be part of the Saxon King haul which was stolen from Councillor Audley’s home.”

  “Yes, all the council are on tenterhooks at the minut
e so they’ve gone overkill. They’re pulling out all the stops to find what’s missing before the proverbial hits the fan any worse than it has already. And what if they’re right to do so?”

  “What do you mean?” said Eva.

  “Just an idea. You’re looking for connections. What if both robberies were linked?”

  Eva’s eyes narrowed in thought. “Interesting. What do you know about the museum theft?”

  “Two central pieces are missing, a gold buckle and a silver stick.”

  “They don’t sound like my client’s items, but it’s a possibility, I suppose,” said Eva. She picked up a pen and scribbled a note about the potential link between the museum loss and Clancy’s.

  “Is there anything else you can think of? Anything else that might help?”

  “You know, you’re beginning to sound like my gaffer, Miss Roberts. Nope. That’s all I’m afraid. But don’t you worry, if there is anything in this, we’ll be all over it soon enough.”

  “And you’ll let me know what you hear?”

  “Yes. If it’s appropriate to do so. Just so long as you plan to do the same.”

  “Of course,” said Eva. “Just one last question, Inspector. How did the police get their hands on Aaron Clancy’s Celtic torq?”

  “Sorry, Celtic what?” said Hogarth.

  “The piece being held by police in case it belongs to the Saxon King’s collection?”

  “Again, not my department. But I heard it was found by a man walking his dog on the beach. Which goes to prove there is still an honest man in Southend.”

  “Yes, I heard that part,” said Eva. “I wondered where exactly.”

  “For someone on the ask, you drive a hard bargain, Miss Roberts. I have a job to do as well. Hold on. I’ll ask our resident gossip expert if he knows anything.”

  Eva heard the DI pull the phone away from his mouth before he called out, “Simmons!”