Episode 10 - The colour black

At 5 in the morning, Gary woke stiff from hunched up hours on the sofa and shivered as he threw off his clothes and crept under the communal duvet. Cleo inevitably woke.

“I’m really really cold,” said Gary. The modest central heating Cleo had installed when she first arrived in Upper Thumpton would not come back oin for another hour.

“Why did you let me sleep on the sofa?” he moaned.

“You looked peaceful, but you’re like an ice-block now.”

“Can I share the warm bit of our duvet”?

“Just come a bit nearer and we’ll talk things over, shall we?”

“What things?”

“Like how you are going to be at the hospital for seven if we start mucking about here.”

“I’ll manage,” said Gary.

***

“At six the alarm clock went off. At five past six Gary was taking a one minute shower, Cleo was feeding the twins, and several other offspring (summoned by the alarm-clock) had piled onto the big bed. Only Charlie was missing, but not for long.

“Are we having a party?” she wanted to know.

“It only looks like it, Sweetheart. Your Daddy has to be at the hospital for seven.”

“Another corpse?” said Charlie.

“Seems like it.”

“I’ll get the coffee on, Mummy,” said Charlie. Trailed by her devoted acolyte, PeggySue, she went into the kitchen to start breakfast and get her little sister a drink.

By six forty Gary was leaving the cottage.

***

Greg was amazed to see his colleague, now officially his boss, arrive on time.

“No kids to feed?” he said laughing.

“They’re coping without me.”

“Let’s move then,” said Greg.

“You’re in charge of this case,” said Gary. “I’m just tagging along, OK?”

“Are you sure?”

“Sure I’m sure. Let’s locate that night nurse.”

“She was in the canteen when I went there for some breakfast, but I think she’ll be in the ward now as it’s nearly time to hand over to the morning shift.”

“That young woman seems to spend more time elsewhere than on the job. Do you know her name, Greg?”

“I did chat to her for a bit. She’s nice.”

“And her name?”

“It says Nurse Ellie on her badge.”

“Pretty.”

The two cops were going through the door to the ward when a spritely person in a pinny caught up with them.

“I saw a man leave the ward where they found the dead woman,” she told them. “You are cops, aren’t you?”

“Yes, but don’t broadcast it,” said Gary.

“Let’s talk about what you saw then, shall we?” said Greg.

They sat down at the table where patients had been playing cards the previous evening and where breakfast would be served for those able to come and get it.

“Can you describe him?”

“Shifty.”

“Why do you think he looked shifty?”

“Visitors don’t sneak into wards after supper,” she said.

“Who do you think he was visiting?”

“That dead woman,” the woman said. “I heard that she was a prostitute.”

Greg did not ask how much she knew about Maureen. When had the rumour about her suspected profession start? She had only been in hospital for a few hours.

“But she would not have been entertaining men in a hospital ward even if she was,” he said.

“She wouldn’t be the first,” the woman said.

“What’s your name?” said Gary.

“Aggie Flint. And I’m not one of them.”

“One of whom?”

“Patients. I’m a member of staff and sometimes a visitor.”

“You said you were also after supper, didn’t you?” said Gary.

“I’m special,” she said. “I come and go.”

“So you are privileges,” said Greg, wondering to what she owed the honour. “Have you been visiting for a long time?”

“Long enough to know that there’s plenty of hanky-panky going on.”

“Who are you thinking of, Mrs Flint?” Gary asked.

“Nurse Ellie, for one,” she said. “Spends hours on a bench outside with a fella that’s up to no good. Leaves the patients to their own devices.”

“We’ll put a stop to that, Mrs Flint,” said Greg. “Would you recognize the man you saw leaving?”

“I think so.”

“We’ll have to find a photo,” said Greg.

“I’ll phone Chris, shall I?” said Gary.

“OK, but where would he get a photo so fast?” said Greg.

“He always photographs everything.”

He had photographed everything. Chris was not only a diligent forensic scientist, but he also had the curiosity of a cat. He had taken photos of everybody at the Fish house on the Oxford Road.

“Here’s someone you might know,” said Gary, showing Mrs Flint the photo of the barman.

“That’s him. Foreign looking,” she said. “Baltic, I should think.”

Breakfast arrived and Mrs Flint partook of everything on offer.

***

Back at HQ, Greg phoned hospital reception to check on Aggie Flint. She really was a visitor who sometimes helped out in the kitchen as a superior potato peeler. She was a local eccentric who otherwise wandered in and out of the hospital and had been given the potato-peeling task so that she could earn a little pocket-money. She had been tolerated for years as a harmless old dear who had fallen on bad times and was lonely, or both. She had definitely been hungry that morning, thought Greg. Nurse Ellie had smiled at her and given her twice the allotted amount of jam. Nurse Ellie had also smiled at Greg and raised his hopes no end.

***

Greg and Gary met a little later that morning in Gary’s office to discuss the result of their mission to the hospital, hoping to raise all the questions that needed an answer. The visit to the hospital had only had one good result: Aggie Flint. Greg had done his homework on Aggie Flint’s identity. No doubt about her identification. Since she wasn’t a patient, there would be nothing to stop her being brought to HQ for a normal identification parade, but getting that barman to participate was not going to be that straightforward.

“Ivan Davis has a British father and a Georgian mother,” Greg was able to report. “It would be useful to know about his other activities before we charge him with murder. Aggie Flint only saw the guy in the corridor. That doesn’t make him a killer.”

“What was he doing there? I suggest that you bring him in to ask him that,” said Gary. “By then Chris will have come up with an analysis of Maureen’s blood. It should show a cocktail of alcohol, sleeping pill and ecstasy.”

“Ivan Davis could also be invited to identify Mrs Flint from a photo,” said Greg.

“That idea’s almost worthy of Dorothy Price,” said Gary.

“I’d better be awarded the new Price prize for hunches then,” said Greg.

“That’s not a bad idea,” said Gary. “We could have a launching ceremony with Dorothy making a speech about her success as a sleuth and my failure to solve mysteries.”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“I wish I was.”

“At least she’s armed when she goes out snooping. We aren’t,” said Greg. “She’s a crack shot, too.”

“Did I hear you say crackpot?”

“You seem to have taken a dislike to her, Gary. That’s not fair. She’s getting on in years, but she’s got all her wits about her.”

“Don’t suggest introducing her to Aggie Flint.”

“Why not?”

“Because Dorothy would take pity on her and we would have her haunting Upper Grumpsfield,” said Gary.

“So we’ll have to be careful not to let Ivan know who identified him,” said Greg.

“You’re right. Next move is to get Jet Black to admit he worked for Romano, if possible without calling in Romano to confirm,” said Gary. “We have a lot of ends to tie up in the Daphne case. Could Jet have killed Irene Smith? He had opportunity, but – as Dorothy would say – where’s the motive?”

“Should I arrest Ivan?”

“No. Wait till we have more to go on. He won’t run away. He’s British.”

“Cheers to that,” said Greg. “Coffee?”

“Downstairs please. We’ll get Mr Black to your office, Greg. Nigel is doing a great job on this place, but he’s not here today to make sure everything is running smoothly.”

“I wondered where he is,” said Greg.

“He has a travesty show performance somewhere, so he has the weekend free.”

“Good lad. Nice to see someone has a hobby. I never get round to one,” said Greg.

“Try Nurse Ellie, Greg. I saw you looking at her.”

“She’s taken.”

“By an undesirable, according to Aggie Flint.”

“But who’d want a cop? Josie didn’t.”

“Ask Cleo. She did!”

Greg thought about Nurse Ellie all day.

***

Joseph (Jet) Black was brought into Gary’s old office on the second floor.

“Nice to see you again, Mr Nero,” said Gary.

Black stopped in his tracks.

“Did you think we wouldn’t connect the two names?”

“At Romano’s they wanted an Italian, so they got one,” he retorted.

“What about your sick mother, Mr Black?”

“I needed a break.”

“Or were you getting away from some kind of pressure?” said Gary.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“The name Ronnie Fish surely rings a bell.”

“I don’t know anyone called Fish.”

“Or maybe Ivan the Terrible?”

“I don’t know Ivan Davis either.”

“Aha! You don’t know him, but you know his name,” said Gary.

“He was barman at the Majestic before he moved to Fish,” said Black.

“Now we’re talking, Mr Black,” said Gary. “So you knew him at that hotel, did you?”

“Vaguely.”

“I would not have thought the hotel was in your league for a drink at the bar, Mr Black.”

“I had business there.”

“What sort of business.”

Black hesitated before replying.

“A poker ring,” he said finally.

“That being the lesser of the two evils, I suppose,” said Gary.

“Tell Cobblethwaite he’s evil. He was the head of the pokr ring. Played poker too well for a mayor – although, when I think about it, those crooks at the town hall played a lot of poker with people’s tax money.”

“You don’t sound like a gangster,” said Gary. “How did you get into the mess you’re in Mr Black?”

“I’m not a gangster. I fell for the wrong woman,” said Jet. “Not Daphne, though bunking down with her was quite a nice prospect.”

“You mean after Irene?”

“How do you know about her?” said Jet.

“My little grey cells, Mr Black.”

“We did not come back to this country together,” said Jet.

“Who came first?”

“She did. I found her a waitress job but she didn’t like it.”

***

Changing the subject, why are you so protective of the so-called syndicate?”

Black did not think that refusing to answer would be usful. The cop already knew roo much.

“I don’t want to get Ivan into trouble.”

“Is Ivan your friend?”

“On and off.”

“What about yourself, Mr Black. You’re in trouble, aren’t you?”

“For the record, I don’t split on colleagues. Ivan only organized the venue.”

“And he’s just a colleague, I suppose.,” said Gary. “Which venue are we talking about.”

“The Majestic.”

“What went on there apart from illegal poker, Mr Black?”

“I don’t know. I want to talk to a lawyer.”

“That’s more like it, Mr Black. But first you can answer one more question, can’t you?”

“I’ll tell you when you’ve asked it.”

Shock treatment was the only way forward and Gary used the mechanism now, though he was starting to feel that Jet‘s worst crime was to organize illegal poker games, and he’d have a hard time trying to get at the mayor. As Superintendent he was supposed to be diplomatic. Better leave that little nest to Greg.

“The question, Mr Hurley,” said Jet. He was disconcerted that Gary had stared at him for half a minute without saying anything.

“Oh that,” said Gary. “Why did Irene Smith have to die?”

To Gary’s surprise, Jet did not hesitate before answering.

“Inan said she knew too much,” said Jet Black.

“What did she know too much about?”

“How should I know?”

“Because you are in the thick of it and if you want to get out alive and kicking you will confide in me and thus qualify for police protection.”

“I’ll wait for my lawyer before I say any more.”

“Look, Jet. Every minute that you procrastinate means danger for someone. Assuming you did not kill Irene Smith, someone else did and won’t stop until they are sure that the syndicate you appear to know about is in the clear.”

“I only know that there are guys out there who have a system up and running that they do not want to see destroyed,” said Jet.

“Who do you suspect?” said Gary. “Come clean for heaven’s sake.”

“I don’t suspect any single individual,” said Jet. “Why don’t you get the Norton brothers to help you? They are enemy number one, after all.”

Gary could feel the cold sweat running down his spine. The Norton brothers had been in control of drugs, protection and prostitution for almost a decade around Middlethumpton. Attempts to pin them down had hitherto proved futile.

“Do you mean that we are now up against the Norton gang?” he said.

“This may only be Middlethumpton, but it pays gangs to be out of the limelight,” said Jet. “There’s plenty of extortion to fill the coffers.”.

“So which side are you on, Jet?”

“Me? I’m piggy in the middle. So was Irene.”

“What about Maureen?”

“Maureen?”

“The receptionist from the Gazette office.”

“She was playing a dangerous game, Mr Hurley. She was trying to be on both sides.”

“And now she’s dead,”

“Is she? That’s almost funny,” said Jet.

“We’ve talked enough for now,” said Gary. “I’m glad you confirmed what we have suspected for months.”

“Why don’t you just wait for them to kill one another?” said Jet.

“Because, as you so wisely commented, you are piggy in the middle and could easily be a casualty. We can’t tolerate collateral damage, Jet.”

***

Jet was taken back to his arrest cell to await his lawyer. Gary hoped the advocate would persuade Jet to tell all, assuming he was innocent of Irene’s murder.

Gary decided reluctantly to release Ronnie Fish after the interview with Jet had promoted the case concerning his house on the Oxford Road up a few notches above the simple disappearance of a girl who was eager to be a film start. Fish had spent the night in an arrest cell and not complained.

That was curious enough, but Gary’s curiosity did not stop there. Was Ronnie Fish sheltering from the Norton brothers? Had Gary done him a devour by detaining him Were things getting a bit out of control out there and HQ was playing into his hands by putting him in a cell? Faced with as experienced a duo as the Norton Twins, who were identical, cunning and ruthless, a new venture such as a syndicate run by Fish would have a hard time.

So what would happen when Fish was freed? The Norton brothers wanted to stay in charge and were legally as slippery as eels. To dismiss them as small-time crooks in a mid-sized market town would be to underestimate their influence. Ronnie Fish was deluded if he thought he could. But what could they charge him with?

Gary thought Jet had a point when he suggested leaving them to wipe out one another, though he had not reckoned with what happened next.

Within an hour Ronnie Fish was a free agent again, wondering what had made those near-sighted cops release him. He did not get far. He was phoning his loyal assistant Olaf on his cell phone in Middlethumpton’s main street when a passer-by bumped into him so heftily that he fell.

But he did not get up again. He was dead.

“That’s another one down and out,” said Gary, when he was brought the news a few minutes later. “Someone must have been waiting for him.”