Peter Turnbull - Deliver Us from Evil

‘I had a little put by. I could have kept the flat going but paying rent on an empty flat, it went so much against the grain. Flats are easy to come by, and I quite like my new little drum. And I escaped the torture of sewing mailbags, opted for education, “good citizenship” in the main. Easier and anyway they don’t sew mailbags in the prisons any more. The GC class enabled me to sit and daydream; usually I carried myself off to a sun drenched and very faraway place.’

‘And now you are seeking another victim?’ Hennessey growled.

‘Client, Mr Hennessey, please. They are your humble servant’s clients.’

‘Clients,’ Hennessey sighed, ‘you mean a string of wealthy old ladies who seek male company of the manner that used to be enjoyed by them.’

‘Provide comfort and succour to those in need. . that’s what I do, Mr Hennessey.’

‘Living and dining with ladies who pick up the bill.’

‘And where is the crime in that, Mr Hennessey?’

‘None, none at all, not until you begin to tell them about the tin mine in Bolivia which could produce unheard-of riches and which needs some development money to get it into full production or the location of the treasure-laden ship which went down in a storm some centuries ago. . and would they like to invest in a little mining concern or a salvage venture with a guarantee of their money back plus at least fifty per cent? It’s then it becomes off side, very left field.’

‘But I am also of use to you, Mr Hennessey, am I not?. . great use.’

‘Which is why I am here.’ Hennessey glanced up at the frosted windows upon which was etched the legend ‘Sanders and Penn’s Fine Ales’, being a relic of the earlier days of The Speculation Inn when there was evidently a local brewery called ‘Sanders and Penn’.

‘Ah. .’ the man smiled. He drained his glass and pushed it across the highly polished, brass-topped table towards Hennessey.

‘Not so fast. Two nights ago a woman was found by the side of the canal. .’

‘I know,’ the man smiled.

‘You know? How? We haven’t released a press statement.’

‘Can’t keep a thing like that quiet, it’s not possible. The boys know, the boys in “the Den”; they know. Suspicious circumstances, the old jungle telegraph, the boys in the Den need to know things like that. . got to keep abreast of developments. Survival depends upon it.’

Hennessey sighed. ‘I imagine, but the reason why I have called here in the hope of finding you “at home”, as it were, is because the deceased, the victim, was not as clean as the driven snow herself, so we are discovering, quite a naughty lady. In fact you two would have made a very good team, you fleecing old ladies and she fleecing her gentlemen employers. What a duo you would have made.’

‘Really?’ There was a glint in the man’s eyes. ‘Now you tell me.’

‘She was a Canadian.’

‘Not Becky?’ Shored-Up looked genuinely saddened. ‘You don’t mean Becky?’

‘You know her?’

‘Becky the Canadian, black hair but liked to wear a blonde wig?’

‘Yes, sounds like her,’ Hennessey groaned, ‘and Becky is yet another alias, Julia and Edith being two others. Doubtless there will be more.’

‘Well, this is a small town, Mr Hennessey, and the brothers and sisters all know each other. . she gave her name as Becky Lecointe.’

Hennessey stood and walked to the serving hatch. He returned with another whisky and placed it in front of the man and said, ‘So, tell me what you know about Becky Lecointe.’

‘Well, she got to know the boys and girls in the Den.’

‘Being the taproom of The Mitre in Blossom Street?’

‘Might be. .’ The man picked up the glass of whisky and savoured the bouquet.

‘It is. . but carry on.’

‘Well, it explains why I drink in here at lunchtimes. I have to be discreet, you understand. It’s a long way from Blossom Street in York terms, and it also explains why sometimes I insist on meeting your good self out of town.’

‘I remember,’ Hennessey growled. ‘I can’t decide whether or not my abiding dislike for Rotherham is greater than my abiding dislike for Doncaster. . but thank you for introducing me to both towns. My life is enriched by the experiences of visiting both.’

‘Please,’ the man sipped his drink lovingly, ‘but it is necessary to be discreet, as I said. I play a dangerous game, Mr Hennessey, it’s part of the thrill and while we all will meet our maker I do not wish to bring that unique event upon me any sooner than I have to.’

‘That I can understand,’ and again pain ran deep within Hennessey’s chest, two shafts, one for Jennifer and one for Graham. ‘So. . in your own words. .’

‘The Canadian. . thief.’

‘Yes.’

‘Selling jewellery she’d half inched. She got a better price for it in the Den than in the pawnbrokers. Folk only do that if it’s half inched. If it’s theirs and they want it back then they pawn it. But she was interested only in getting all the cash she could. So it was pinched. Also a few wallets.’

‘She dipped?’

‘Oh yes. . a woman’s touch you understand, more adept at getting inside a man’s inside pocket.’

‘Strange we never got to know her. . she must have been good. . in a criminal sense of the word.’

‘The Canadian police do.’

‘Do they?’

‘So she said. She was anxious to return to Canada, she was unhappy in the UK. Me, I wouldn’t want to live anywhere but the UK, dare say she feels the same way about Canada, or felt the same, I should say. Home being home. . wherever the heart is an’ all that stuff.’

‘Yes.’ Hennessey glanced up at the frosted glass of The Speculation Inn. Through the areas of clear glass he saw dark clouds looming ominously and rapidly.

‘So she told us she was waiting until the heat died down before going back; it seems that for her it was a case of any port in a storm.’

‘I see.’ Hennessey sipped his drink. ‘Strange she found The Mitre.’

‘She was in the area for a good few months before she found us, but like always finds like. If you hang around any city long enough you’ll find your own kind. Story was that she needed a fence, someone to take the stolen stuff off her, and eventually she found The Mitre. She really was in a good way of business. She even turned windows. Very unusual for a woman, and a woman of her years as well.’

‘Turned windows!’

‘Yes, she was a most adept burglar. Most adept. Or she could con and would con and charm her way into an old person’s house. She had a calm manner and a ready smile. She also had an ID card.’

‘Of?’

‘A social worker. She had dipped a social worker, found his ID in his wallet and realizing its usefulness she had kept it. The photo was a clean shaven, dark-haired young male, but it was all that was needed to con a partially sighted elderly person desperate for company, as so many of them are. So she would get into the elderly person’s house, leave with something of value and unload it in the Den. She wanted cash. . only cash, as we all do. Wouldn’t take it to a jeweller who’d be suspicious, and they have CCTV in their shops. So it was either the Den or the pawnbroker but she preferred the Den. If she couldn’t sell it in the Den only then would she pawn it. I used to feel sorry for her husband, poor soul.’

‘Oh. .’ Hennessey sipped his tonic water. ‘Why?’

‘Well, he’s thinking he’s got a nice wife to come home to and all the while she’s roaming the Vale. . and out to the coast.’

‘The coast?’

‘Oh yes, where do you go when you retire but the coast? Lots of easy pickings on the coast.’ He sipped his whisky.

‘She was doing this recently?’