Cold Wrath, page 14
‘You cannot be too careful.’ The man pronounced ‘cannot’ as ‘ha-not’ and ‘careful’ as ‘hare-full’. ‘You are alone? I hope you’re alone. I want you to be alone.’
‘Yes … all alone,’ Ventnor remained calm, ‘as you requested, there’s just me, all by myself. Just me alone.’
‘And,’ the man continued, pronouncing ‘and’ as ‘h-and’, ‘you have not got a mate hiding out of sight with a camera or with one of those long-range microphone things? I’ve seen them on television.’
‘No,’ Ventnor replied, ‘and I have not got a tape recorder hidden inside my jacket. So, enough games. Let’s cut to the chase, shall we? You said that you have information about the murder of Anthony Garrett of The Grange, Millington. So what have you got to tell us?’
‘Yes. Where’s your car?’ The man was insistent, and he looked anxiously from left to right as he spoke. ‘Where did you leave it? I can’t see it.’
‘In the layby about one hundred yards back that way.’ Ventnor pointed to his left as he felt his patience thinning. ‘And you’re in danger of being run in for wasting police time. So come on, what have you got to tell me? I have other things to do and I have not got all day.’
‘I can’t be too careful,’ the man wheezed. ‘I’m a gypsy. I can’t be too careful.’
‘A gypsy?’ Ventnor brushed a fly from his face. ‘What do you mean? Are you a traveller? A member of the travelling community?’
‘Reckon I do travel,’ the man shrugged, ‘but not very far. I mean that I am a gypsy cab driver. Anyway I saw on the TV last night that you are looking for information about the murder which took place in Millington. So I contacted you, but I am an illegal taxi operator.’
‘Ah … I see.’ Ventnor nodded. ‘I understand you now. Quite illegal.’
‘Yes,’ the man nodded, ‘quite illegal. Very illegal. So I don’t, I don’t want to give no name and it’s why I covered up my bike’s number plate with that bit of sackcloth, so you won’t know who I am, and it’s also why I can’t get no reward because I can’t give you my identity,’ he panted, pronouncing ‘identity’ as ‘hi-dentity’.
‘Fair enough,’ Ventnor brushed a fly from his face, ‘but I assure you, we have bigger fish to fry right now than to want to bother about your little fly-by-night money-making scam. So you tell me what you can. You do that and I won’t tell the taxi cab licensing people all about you.’
‘Or the Social Security,’ the man panted. ‘I’m drawing the dole, you see … I have emphysema … I have it bad,’ he patted his chest, ‘can’t work. They can’t know about me moonlighting as a gypsy cab operator either.’
‘But you can drive a car?’ Ventnor smiled. ‘You can do that.’
‘Yes, it’s about all I can do. So I make a little beer money, but it’s not much really.’ The man looked about him nervously. ‘I’ve got to keep the car on the road, you see, so like after petrol and insurance and all the rest of it there’s not a lot left over out of the fares … and there’s not a lot of fares to be had. Not a lot at all.’
‘OK … so what have you got to tell us?’ Ventnor pressed.
‘You sure you’re alone?’ the man asked in a fretful manner.
‘Quite sure,’ Ventnor breathed deeply, ‘and you’re on thin ice now. You’re really testing my patience. I’ve had quite enough of your games, so spill, now, or I’m taking you into custody for wasting police time, and the illegal taxi operation, and there’ll be more for us to find out about you because there always is more to find out about felons. Always.’
The man wiped the sweat off his face and then wiped his sweat-covered palms on his grimy white T-shirt. He wore baggy and much faded denim jeans and torn with age tennis shoes. His crash helmet, not being in plain view, Ventnor reasoned, must be hidden from sight in the sidecar of his motorcycle combination.
The man shrugged. ‘I’m saying nothing but I know you have spies everywhere. I know that about the police. You have spies everywhere. Everywhere.’
‘And a very long arm,’ Ventnor growled. ‘In fact, you have no idea just how far the long arm of the law can reach. So, one last time before I book you for wasting police time, tell me what you know.’
‘All right … all right,’ the wheezing man held up his fleshy, sweat-soaked palm. ‘Last Saturday morning, it was, I was touting for fares outside the Holderness Arms Hotel …’
‘By the racecourse,’ Ventnor confirmed, ‘that hotel?’
‘Yes … yes,’ the man panted, ‘that one. Not many people seem to know of that hotel. It’s quite small as hotels go is the Holderness Arms Hotel, not many people know it.’
‘I’m a cop,’ Ventnor replied icily. ‘We know where everything is. It’s our business to know where everything is. So … you were touting for illegal fares at the Holderness Arms Hotel on Saturday last in the morning … then … then what happened?’
‘Well, then I was leaning on the bonnet of my car, that’s the gypsy cabby’s signal that he is for hire … when it’s wet we just sit at the wheel.’
‘I know,’ Ventnor sighed. ‘I know that. Just carry on.’
‘So these three women approach me.’ The man took another clearly painful breath. ‘They were weird. I could tell. Like they were really weird.’
‘How?’ Ventnor pressed. ‘In what way were they weird?’
‘Well, first off they were dressed identical to each other, and they were, all the three of them, the same height, all the exact same height. I’d say about my height and I am five feet seven inches tall.’
‘All right.’ Ventnor reached for his notebook and the ballpoint pen. ‘Five feet seven inches …’
‘Yes, boss,’ the man wheezed. ‘But they had heels, so allow for that.’
‘And all dressed the same?’ Ventnor clarified. ‘You mean like a uniform?’
‘Yes, boss, like a uniform but not a uniform … civilian clothing … they wore civilian clothing: red blouse, grey skirt, each had a black shoulder handbag, and each one was carrying a small yellow holdall. The handbags were on their right shoulder and the holdalls were in their left hand.’ The man continued to speak in his distinctive manner and pronouncing ‘shoulder’ as ‘h-shoulder’. ‘Small holdalls they had, boss, not huge kitbags, nothing like that, and the holdalls didn’t seem very heavy, I could tell that there was not much weight in the holdalls.’
‘All right,’ Ventnor commented. ‘This is very good. Carry on.’
‘So then it gets a bit weird,’ the man glanced about him nervously, ‘really weird.’
‘What do you mean?’ Ventnor asked keenly. ‘Really weird? How? In what way was it really weird?’
‘Well, boss, it was like this.’ The man took a breath and seemed to Ventnor to be experiencing difficulty in doing so. His eyes darted from left to right. ‘Are you sure that you are alone?’
‘Quite sure,’ Ventnor calmed himself. ‘Very, very sure. Just tell me what you brought me out here for.’
‘All right … so they asked me was I free,’ the man continued.
‘Free?’ Ventnor repeated.
‘So I said, “Well, I charge, I charge money, but I’m for hire. I’m free in that sense, free to be hired,”’ the man explained as he continued to look from left to right. ‘So they smiled and said, “Point to you.”’
‘So what was weird about that?’ Ventnor put his pen in his mouth and sucked the end. ‘Explain what you thought was weird about those women.’
‘Well, what was weird, boss, what was weird, is that they all spoke at once … all three spoke but they didn’t seem to have rehearsed what they were going to say,’ the man explained. ‘I mean they didn’t know what I was going to say, “Well, I charge, but I’m for hire,” but they, all three, responded at the same time with the same words, “Point to you.” It was totally very strange. Those three women were very strange.’
‘Yes,’ Ventnor wrote on his notepad, ‘that does sound strange indeed, very strange. So then what happened?’
‘Well, then they said … again all three at the same time,’ the man continued, ‘“Can you take us to Millington? It is a village to the east of York, more than ten miles from York.” So I said, yes, I know where that village is but I’m a gypsy. I work only for cash and I can’t give receipts either,’ the man explained. ‘It is strictly cash only, I told them, and no receipts.’
‘OK,’ Ventnor replied, ‘were they happy with that?’
‘Yes, they were, in fact they said “ideal”, in that way they had of all speaking all at once … all three said “ideal” at the same time. Weird.’ The man took another painful breath. ‘So they gets in, so they do, one in the front beside me and the other two side by side on the rear seat. So I drove them out to Millington and not a word was spoken during the journey. Not a word. Silence all the time. Then we get to the village and I slow down and say, “Where in the village? Where do you want to go?”’ The man once again looked nervously about him. ‘So they all said, all three at once, “A house called The Grange,” so I said, “I don’t know where that is, I’ll have to ask.” I have learned since I’ve been driving my gypsy cab that there are two good places to ask for local directions, one is an estate agent and the other is a postman. They both know all the little streets, they both do … all the little out of the way nooks and crannies.’
‘I’ll remember that.’ Ventnor smiled so as to encourage the man to continue talking. ‘That’s a useful tip to remember.’
The man beamed with pride, boyishly so, thought Ventnor. ‘So there was no estate agent that I could see, don’t get them in villages anyway, but there was a postie doing his walk. Postmen have walks, milkmen have rounds. So I left the cab and got directions from the postie. A really friendly bloke he was. Very eager to help. So I returned to the car with good, clear directions and drive on through the village. On the other side of the village I see the house, just as the postie described: blue painted, pale blue, and well set back from the road … old building, maybe Victorian era, up on a bit of a hill, but more a sort of slope up to the house from the road, with lawn and shrubs … quite a well-kept garden, I thought.’
‘Yes … yes.’ Ventnor nodded. ‘I know what you mean. I’ve been there. Carry on …’
‘So I halt at the side of the road and the three women all say at once, “No, turn into the drive please and then stop just beyond the gateposts. We want you to stop just beyond the gateposts.” Again, it was the same, all three spoke at once, all three saying the same words at the same time, with no indication that they had rehearsed them. So I do as they say. I mean, they’re paying customers, aren’t they? So I turn into the drive,’ the man pronounced ‘into’ as ‘h-into’, ‘and then I stop, like they asked me to do. The drive was gravel and the cab’s tyres crunched on it but there was no reaction from the house. It was the sort of sound that would make a dog bark if there was a dog in the house.’
‘All right,’ Ventnor nodded again, ‘so they get out of the car, then what?’
‘Yes, boss, at the same time and without saying anything, but they all leave their little yellow holdall bags in the cab. Then it gets even more strange – they all begin to walk up to the big house, but they start weaving in and out of each other’s paths, not staying in a line like I had expected them to do, a shoulder to shoulder line, I mean. I saw that the one who had sat next to me was the one on the left of the line when they started walking, but after they’d taken about fifteen paces I couldn’t say which of the three she was, with nothing to tell them apart. I tell you, I just couldn’t,’ the man explained. ‘So they walk up to the house, very calmly, always moving in and out of each other’s path. Then, when they reach the house, two stand by the front door, one either side of the steps leading up to the door, but not at the door itself.’
‘Yes … yes,’ Ventnor replied, ‘I know what you mean.’
‘They stood like a pair of sentries, so they did, facing out, you know, with their backs to the house, not moving, not talking that I could see from where I was sitting at the bottom of the drive. Anyway, the third one goes up the steps and she knocks on the knocker, or she rings a doorbell … but whatever she does the door opens almost immediately and she walks in and the door closes behind her. The two other women just stay where they are, just looking straight ahead and not moving at all.’
‘Like sentries,’ Ventnor repeated.
‘Yes, like they were guarding Buckingham Palace.’ The man anxiously looked to his left and right.
‘I’m alone.’ Ventnor raised his voice. ‘Just me. I told you I am alone. Stop worrying.’
‘Can’t ever be too careful,’ the man wheezed, ‘those long-range microphones, those cameras with telephoto lenses. Can’t ever be too careful.’
‘Just carry on,’ Ventnor pressed. ‘Just try to calm down and tell me what happened. You’re doing well.’
‘Well then … seems like the one that went into the house came back out again more or less straight away. I mean that. Straight away. She wasn’t in for more than a minute,’ the man wheezed, ‘and like I mean sixty seconds. Less, possibly less than sixty seconds. She emerges, shuts the door behind her and walks down the steps.’
‘So …’ Ventnor wrote on his notepad. ‘So, she pulls the door shut behind her? It wasn’t closed from the inside?’
‘No, sir, it looked to me like she pulled it shut behind her. In fact, I am pretty sure that the woman pulled the door shut behind her. Pretty well certain.’
‘All right.’
‘So then all three of them start walking at the same time and once again they mix themselves up as they walk, in and out of each other, weaving like.’
On a whim Ventnor turned around and his eye was caught by a hawk circling over a wheat field which then folded its wings and dived into the crop, then re-emerged and flew away towards a line of woodland. He saw a vastness of golden corn, a line of green foliage, all under a blue, almost cloudless sky. He returned his attention to the wheezing man. ‘So then what did those three women do?’
‘Well, then they walked back to me and my cab, and continued walking in and out of each other’s path, weaving, so that when they got back to the car I couldn’t say for certain which of the three had entered the house. They then got back into my car and I tell you plain, I wouldn’t have known if the one that sat in the front passenger seat was the one who had sat in the seat on the drive out to Millington. Even that close, I still couldn’t tell one from the other two. So I said, “Back to York, ladies?”, and they said, “No,” talking at the same time, they said, “Take us out into the country. Find somewhere remote for us. Really remote. Well out of the way.” So I drove east, further away from York, and then turned on to a “B” road, then I found an even narrower road with woods on either side. Then they said, “This will do. This will do very nicely. It is just right, in fact. Just what we need.” So I stopped the cab and as they got out, this time they took their small yellow holdalls with them and they walked into the greenery and were lost from sight.’ The man pronounced ‘sight’ as ‘h-sight’.
‘Interesting,’ Ventnor murmured. ‘I think I can guess what you are going to tell me, but do go on …’
‘Well, they came back after a while during which time I see smoke rising from the trees … but when they come back into view they’re all dressed in casual clothing – jeans, T-shirt, sports shoes … and all different. One had a red T-shirt, the others blue or green. Their hair was different, shorter and darker, so they had been wearing wigs … and they were not carrying their holdalls, just their handbags. They got into the cab and they speak at the same time and say, “Take us to our hotel, please.” So we go back to the hotel and the journey again passes in silence … they pay the fare … no tip or anything, just what I ask for. I thought that was tight-fisted because the Holderness Arms Hotel might be small but it’s not cheap, not by a long chalk, it’s not cheap. That’s why I go there looking for customers. So I hang around, sitting on my car. I needed the money.’
‘Sitting,’ Ventnor echoed, ‘sitting on it?’
‘Leaning, then … just a manner of speaking. I was hoping for another fare and then half an hour later those three women come back out of the hotel, still dressed casually, but this time each of them is carrying a small suitcase, same style but different colours.’ The man looked around him.
‘I’m alone!’ Ventnor raised his voice. ‘Stop worrying. I am quite alone.’
‘All right.’ The man took another difficult breath. ‘So they see me still there and recognize me and they say … all three at once, “You’re still for hire, we see?” So I said, “Yes, I’m still for hire.” So they say, “Well, in that case, can you please take us to the railway station?” So I say “yes” and so that’s what I do. I run them to the railway station. I drop them as near as I can because I don’t want to be noticed by the licensed operators who’d report me at the drop of a hat. They pay me and they walk from my cab into the station foyer. They didn’t tip me again then either. Not one tip despite two trips.’
‘So where did you take them after you left The Grange?’ Ventnor continued. ‘Can you find that exact location again, do you think? It’s vital, absolutely vital, that we investigate where they burned their clothing. I mean vital.’
‘Yes, I can. It’s not too far from here. Just you and me. I can do that. We can go now, but only if we use your car. I won’t take my bike, well it’s Dad’s old bike really, because I don’t want you to read the number plate. You can trace me that way. Just can’t be too careful. Just can’t be too careful.’
