Someone Who Isn't Me, page 11
Dinah nodded. He’d told her once, when they were sitting in the car late one evening towards the end of their shift, eating bacon rolls from the van on the seafront. His wife, Mel, had been diagnosed with cancer during her pregnancy. She’d refused treatment until after their daughter, Mia, was born and had died before Mia was six months old. Mel and Mia, Andy had said. He’d smiled. She liked that.
‘So, times were tough. He had a mortgage, he had childcare to pay for and all the rest of the shit you get when you’ve got a kid. What’s to show he was one of the good guys? Whatever he was doing, you can flip it – Andy was carrying out illegal contacts with drug dealers – he goes to places he shouldn’t, meets people we don’t know about, ends up getting killed. Live by the sword, die by the sword, you know?’
The idea that Andy could be have been bent silenced Dinah for a few seconds. ‘That’s… You don’t think that?’ It was more an accusation than a question.
‘I know he wasn’t dodgy. It’s a set-up. They get rid of someone who’s getting too close, we dismiss him as yet another bent cop. Before I say anything, I want evidence that shows Andy was set-up. If it’s anywhere, it will be in that pub, and I can’t go in there. Apart from anything else, the landlord knows me. He’d kick me out and put in the kind of complaint that would have me counting cars for the rest of my life.’
Now she knew what he was asking. ‘You want me to have a look?’
‘I told you. I can’t go in there. You’re a stranger.’
‘How do I explain it if I get caught?’ She’d be in trouble, she knew that.
‘Go in when you’re off duty. You’re allowed to drink where you want to.’
As if she’d choose a dive like the Smokehouse. ‘But what do I look for? I can’t just walk in and start asking questions.’
‘Two things. Take a look at the place. If you see anything that we can use to go after Carl Lavery, the bloke who owns it – anything at all – tell me. Second, Andy had a contact in there – the barmaid, Becca Armitage. Try and talk to her.’
‘But if she was Andy’s informant, then Hammond can follow up.’ She didn’t want to do this. She really didn’t. Something felt off.
‘She wasn’t, or not officially. She just gave him a few bits and pieces. I think she had a bit of a thing for him.’
Dinah stared out of the car window into the fading light. This story of unofficial investigations had shaken her. What had Andy been thinking of? What had he known that had made him do this? Curwen was hinting it could lead to accusations of corruption. If that was the case, the outcome could be severe. The least of it was a tainting of his reputation, something his family – including Mia as she grew up – would have to live with. His daughter could even lose the pension she’d get for an officer killed in the line of duty, because if Andy had been on the take, then he didn’t die in the line of duty. She wrestled with it, then made up her mind. Andy had been one of the good guys, she was sure of that. He’d never have done something that might have harmed Mia.
‘OK. I’ll take a look, but if I find anything, I’m taking it straight to Hammond.’
‘Sure. Just let me know as well. When will you go?’
She might as well get over with. ‘Tonight. I’ll go in tonight.’
She felt, rather than saw, Curwen relax beside her. ‘Thanks, Dinah,’ he said. ‘And let me know if his phone turns up. There could be something on that.’
Ten minutes later, she was heading back towards her desk with some useful tips from Curwen about making her searches easier, but her mind was focused on what he had just told her about Andy. If he was right, this could add a whole new layer to the investigation – could break it wide open.
She had to tell Hammond, but she’d do what Curwen had asked her first.
Chapter 17
The day at the supermarket had dragged on and on. Becca had moved through it – from till to stockroom to shelves – like a zombie. She couldn’t stop herself from thinking, so she forced her mind onto the routine – making lists in her head of things she needed to do, counting the steps from one end of the store to the other.
She wanted to go home. She wanted to fall asleep and not wake up again for a hundred years, like that lame movie about fairy godmothers and shit like that.
Andy. In trouble, with the kind of people—
Stop!
Thirty-five steps from one side of the stockroom to the other. Seventy from the stockroom to the till…
What kind of people? Why had he been so cold in his texts while he was away?
Five from the first till to the next…
She was going crazy. The last thing she wanted to do was go to the pub, because there it would be even worse: the pub was Andy’s place, the place where she always saw him and the place where they would text and chat. She didn’t want to make nice with the punters, she didn’t want to talk to the pig creep copper if he came in again, she didn’t want to listen to Toby making excuses so he could go and play on the games machines.
She didn’t want to be anywhere.
But that was the thing about being broke. It took all your choices away.
Shitface Bryan kept her late at the shop, pretending the shelves weren’t right and the stock was in the wrong places, so she didn’t have time to go back and feed the kitten, or to get anything to eat herself. She stopped on the way to buy a tray of chips, but they were pale and flabby, tasting of cheap cooking oil, and after a couple of mouthfuls, they made her feel sick. She was supposed to be behind the bar at seven thirty. She got to the pub with minutes to spare.
Russ was in his place by the door, Champ sitting like a statue beside him. Where did they go when they weren’t here? She never saw them around Brid during the day.
She wanted to talk to him, to ask him about Andy. Russ was the only one who knew she and Andy had gone out that time – he’d seen them leaving together that Saturday night. If she closed her eyes, it was like she was back there, both of them laughing about something daft that had happened, Andy holding her hand, lightly.
But that was then. Now was what mattered.
Andy had asked for her help, and she hadn’t given it to him. In the end, she’d let him down, so she had to make up for that. Now, even though it was too late, she had to help him.
Russ must see just about everything that went on. ‘Hi,’ she said as she came towards him. Russ didn’t respond, but Champ turned his big head and stared at her. ‘Can I stroke him?’ she said, reaching her hand out. Russ didn’t like people messing with his dog.
He nodded, a quick, single jerk of his chin. It was soothing to run her hand over the huge head, feeling the smooth hair under her fingers. Champ stayed motionless, looking as though he was suffering her touch rather than enjoying it. She wanted to offer him the remains of her chips, but she knew better than to do that. One time, she’d offered him a crisp from a bag she was eating, but he hadn’t taken it, not until Russ had said, ‘OK,’ in a sharp sort of voice. ‘I don’t like people feeding him,’ he’d said to Becca, so she hadn’t done it again.
Time was getting on. ‘Did you hear…’ she began, unsure what she was going to say. Russ didn’t appear to notice she’d said anything but she had the feeling he was listening. She tried again. ‘Did you hear about Andy? You know, Andy who used to come in here?’ Her voice was getting more uncertain as Russ didn’t respond. ‘Only, I read in the paper, today. He got…’ She couldn’t say it. ‘You know.’
‘Yeah. I heard.’ His voice was indifferent. It was hard to go on, but she had to.
‘I don’t get it. I want to know what happened. He was… we were like… he was a mate.’ Why should Russ care about Andy? Or her? Why should he know anything about it?
Russ laughed. She’d never heard him laugh before. ‘Is that what you call it?’
She felt her face flush, and lifted her chin. ‘Yeah. And I want to know what happened to him.’
‘Why would I know, sweetheart?’
‘Don’t you?’ And don’t call me sweetheart!
His eyes narrowed as studied her. ‘You really want to know what I think?’
‘I asked you, didn’t I?’
‘Keep out of it.’
She looked at him in surprise. ‘What do you mean?’
He got slowly to his feet. Standing, he towered above her. ‘You asked what I think. I’m telling you. Keep out of it. What part of that don’t you understand? If you know what’s good for you, forget it.’
Before she could reply, he’d chucked his sleeping bag into the alcove and walked away, Champ following closely behind.
Chapter 18
Dinah was true to her word, and after her shift ended at six, she pulled on her coat and walked along Quay Road towards the seafront. There was no point in taking her car – there’d be nowhere to park.
It was one of her favourite parts of Brid – a wide road lined with old red-brick buildings, white stucco, trees and some green spaces. Bridlington was a real traditional old seaside town. Her work sometimes made her forget what an attractive place it could be.
The walk to the narrow side street where the Smokehouse stood only took her twenty minutes. She hesitated outside for a minute, trying to decide what she was going to do.
A homeless man was sitting in the alcove by the door, the inevitable dog – a huge one – sitting stoically beside him. She hesitated, and the dog’s head moved towards her, its stare blank and fixed. Neither dog nor man moved as she went past them into the pub, wondering what it was about them that had unnerved her.
As she came through the door, she went straight to the bar. Her first aim was to make contact with the woman Curwen had mentioned, but the only person behind the bar was a tall, skinny guy with ‘geek’ written all over him. He barely made eye contact as she ordered her drink.
‘Corona, please,’ she said.
‘’kay.’
He popped the cap and pushed the bottle across the bar, no lime in the neck, and no offer of a glass, not that she wanted one. ‘Nice evening,’ she tried, but he’d already turned away to serve another customer. It wasn’t a nice evening anyway; it was cold and dank. She’d really let the homeless guy spook her.
She looked round the room. It was large and low-ceilinged. The light was dim, the tables and chairs looked old and battered. The carpet just ahead of her had been repaired with what looked like gaffer tape. There was a bank of three gaming machines against the far wall with a group of people standing round one of them. The table by the machines would give her a good view of the room, and the bar.
She went across and sat down. The pub was middling busy. The group around the machine was quite rowdy. They were watching someone play, shouting advice and laughing as it whirled and jangled and paid out nothing.
A tall man with a tanned face and long, curly hair seemed to be the focus of the group. He leaned across to the player once or twice, offering advice, shaking his head when the gambit failed. He had his hand on the shoulder of a fair-haired woman and as Dinah watched, he gestured towards the back of the pub, and the group started to move away. She noticed he was using a stick and walked with a pronounced limp. His hand on the woman’s shoulder seemed more practical than proprietorial.
The player stayed at the machine. His friends continued to shout advice across the pub as they settled themselves round a table, but he ignored them. Then another player had arrived and started using one of the other machines. It was the geeky barman who had served her. Dinah glanced towards the bar and saw that his place had been taken by a woman.
This must be Becca Armitage who, according to Curwen, had a crush on Andy and had given him titbits of information. She looked very young, barely old enough to be working in a pub. In the dim light, Dinah thought she looked a bit uncertain – picking things up, putting them down, going to and fro between the beer taps as if she kept forgetting things.
There was a clanking noise as one of the games machines paid out. The group at the back of the room cheered. The winner raised a fist, pocketed his winnings and ambled back towards his friends. It wasn’t the barman who had won, Dinah noted. He gave up on his game and started wandering round the pub collecting glasses and wiping tables in a desultory sort of way.
He picked up the bottle in front of her, checked it and saw it wasn’t empty and put it back down.
‘Bad luck,’ Dinah said.
He looked at her. ‘What?’
‘I said bad luck. On the machines. You didn’t win.’
‘Oh. Right. Yeah. That one doesn’t pay out. It’s just a game.’
‘So how do you win?’
‘It’s an old Space Invaders game. You just keep shooting and if you keep your score up, you keep on playing. And you get on the high score list.’
Dinah made a face. ‘Does anyone care?’ She wasn’t into retro.
‘Yeah. Loads of people.’ He glanced at her, and she could see he was really noticing her for the first time.
She was wearing her standard work gear – smart trousers that weren’t too tight, a high-necked, long-sleeved top, dark navy, severe. Her fair hair was cut short and the only touch of frivolity was her bright-red glasses. It was a good way of avoiding the male gaze, but this young man seemed to be assessing her with some interest. Contact with him would make contact with the barmaid easier. ‘Retro games are not for me.’
‘So what do you like?’ The pub was filling up, but he seemed in no hurry to go back to work.
‘Fortnite. Far Cry.’
‘Yeah? You play online?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘OK. Hey, why don’t you—’
‘Toby!’ The bellow came from the back of the room. Dinah looked up. A scruffy, overweight man was standing behind the bar. This must be Carl Lavery, the man who’d got Curwen into so much trouble. He jerked his thumb towards the queue that had built up while Becca was working on her own.
Toby rolled his eyes at Dinah, and headed back towards the bar. She got up and studied the games machines as she worked out the best way to get into conversation with Becca, once the pub was less busy. She turned over possible opening gambits in her mind. Who’s the lazy sod you’re working with? And suppose he turned out to be her boyfriend? You look a bit busy. And hey, look, you’re selling beer. A straight approach? I think you knew my friend, Andy.
Her gaze stayed on the screen as she thought. The barman hadn’t been joking when he’d said that it was an old one – the graphics were crude and the game-play simple. The screen flickered, showing hordes of attacking aliens, and the high scores of recent players, who apparently included Jonathan Creek, Dag Wentim and Deadpool, scrolled down the screen.
She wasn’t doing anything useful here. Time to go and make friends with Becca. Something was nagging at her as she went across to the bar, but she couldn’t pull it to the front of her mind. She’d just have to wait. It would come to her.
There was a queue waiting to be served, and Becca, as Dinah had observed earlier, seemed to be struggling. Dinah arrived just in time to hear her say, ‘Piss off,’ to some grinning drinker who’d clearly said something out of order.
She waited until there was a lull, then she went up to the bar and asked for some crisps, noticing that Toby had vanished again.
‘What kind?’ The young woman didn’t even look at her, just half turned to ask her question.
‘Plain.’ That was always a safe option. They always had that. ‘You could do with some help behind there.’
‘Yeah.’ Becca slid a packet across the counter, took the money and had the change back in almost one movement. She was with the next customer before Dinah could come up with anything else.
The crisps were cheese and onion.
Dinah stayed and watched as Becca muddled up an order for several different types of beer, and managed a weary smile as the men buying joshed her good-naturedly about her mistakes. She looked tired, and, Dinah noticed as she watched her more carefully, a bit red-eyed.
Someone pushed past her with a brief, ‘’Scuse.’ It was Toby, the barman. He loaded a pile of dirty glasses on the bar. ‘Oh, hey, it’s you. What Fortnite do you play?
‘Battle Royale,’ she said.
‘Cool. I play Creative. We should get together sometime.’
‘Yeah. Maybe.’ Talking to him reminded her of the names on the Space Invaders machine. ‘Who’s Dag Wentim? Is he someone who comes in here?’
‘Who wants to know?’ He was frowning as he looked at her.
‘No one. I’ve heard it before, that’s all. It’s unusual.’
He grinned. ‘It’s not a punter. He’s a superhero. That’s what they do on that machine – superheroes.’
‘So who do you play as?’
His grin widened. ‘Play me and I’ll tell you.’
‘OK. Next time. Your…’ she wasn’t sure what word to use. ‘Your colleague doesn’t look too good. Is she all right?’
He glanced across at the bar. ‘Becca? You heard about the guy they found down the coast, you know, got killed?’
‘I heard something,’ Dinah said cautiously.
‘Yeah, well, he was, you know, seeing her.’
‘Seeing her?’ Dinah cursed herself for the incredulity in her voice. Curwen hadn’t said anything about a relationship.
He gave her an odd look. ‘Yeah. Did you know him or something?’
Think. Fast. ‘I read that he was married,’ she said and shrugged. No big deal. She racked her brains for a way to continue the conversation, but he’d ducked under the serving hatch and was back behind the bar.
More people came in through the door. There wasn’t going to be a quiet time now before closing. She might as well go. She waved at the barman and got a nod in return. If she came back soon, he’d be her best way in, as long as she hadn’t blown it. There was no chance of getting into conversation with Becca tonight, but the evening hadn’t been a complete waste of time She’d found out more than she’d expected. If Andy had been seeing this Becca woman, then the whole thing became important for the investigation. Despite Curwen’s concerns about Andy, Hammond needed to know.
