James Craig - Acts of Violence

‘He’s getting a good deal. Chase is going to improve his standards of behaviour and stop lowering the tone at the Racetrack.’

The waitress appeared with the card reader and Helen typed in her PIN. ‘That simply means his champagne sales will take a hit. It doesn’t seem like such a good deal to me.’

‘I also said that I’d introduce him to Dom.’ Dominic Silver was a former copper turned drug dealer. He was also a mate, a family friend for more than thirty years. ‘He always has cash burning a hole in his pocket that he can use for suitable investments.’

Retrieving her card, Helen waited for the waitress to retreat to the till before commenting. ‘Yeah,’ she said finally, ‘I can see how that would be the case. Cash generation is pretty good in the drugs business. And you don’t have to pay any taxes.’

‘Pur-lease,’ Carlyle protested. ‘Dom’s straight these days.’

Helen shot him a doubtful look.

‘I spoke to him not so long ago. His art gallery is doing really well. He’s thinking about opening another one, in Shoreditch.’

‘Shoreditch?’ Helen raised an eyebrow. ‘Handy for the hipster trade, I suppose.’

‘Art is his thing now,’ Carlyle insisted, ‘but he’s looking for other opportunities as well.’

Still looking less than convinced, Helen put the card back in her purse and stuffed the purse back in her bag.

‘It’s just an introduction,’ he pointed out. ‘All I’m doing is bringing the two of them together. It will be up to them whether they want to take it any further.’

‘John Carlyle,’ his wife grinned, ‘mover and shaker.’

His foot had started hurting again. Carlyle grimaced as he hobbled down the road. Turning off Northington Street, his phone began vibrating in his jacket pocket. Checking the number on the screen, he let out a heavy sigh.

‘How’s it going, Bernie?’

‘Not bad, Inspector – how about you?’

‘Fine, fine,’ Carlyle muttered. Ignoring the pain in his foot, he quickened his pace.

‘Did your boss enjoy Trooping the Colour?’ Bernie Gilmore asked.

‘Dunno. Haven’t spoken to her about it.’

‘At least she managed to keep her hat on.’

That’s £800 of taxpayers’ money well spent, then. ‘You’re not thinking about running the story, are you?’

‘No, no, no,’ the journalist reassured him. ‘That’s been and gone. The public only have the attention span of a dying gnat. We must move on.’

‘Good.’ Feel free to get to the point.

‘I hear,’ said Bernie, ‘that your friend and mine, Seymour Erikssen, has returned to his natural habitat.’

‘Eh?’

‘The silly old bugger is back behind bars.’

‘Oh, right. Yes, he is.’

‘What has he done this time?’

‘The usual.’ Carlyle explained the background to the master criminal’s latest arrest. ‘He confessed to a dozen or so burglaries in Bloomsbury.’

‘The legend continues,’ Bernie opined. ‘Virginia Woolf will be turning in her grave.’

‘Ach. Who’s afraid of her?’ Carlyle replied, pleased with his speedy quip.

‘Yes, yes. Very good. But getting back to the matter in hand, I just need a nice quote for my story, from sources close to the investigation. You know the kind of thing.’

The inspector thought about it for a moment. ‘What did you have in mind?’ Dodging an old man walking his dog, he listened to the journalist outline a few frothy soundbites.

‘What do you reckon?’

‘Sure,’ Carlyle smiled. ‘That sounds fine. No problem at all. You go for it.’

Ending the call, the inspector realized that he hadn’t asked Bernie whether he would be interested in doing a feature on Chase Race and Naomi Taylor. Ah well, it could wait.

With Seymour taking the fall for his little spot of breaking and entering, Carlyle felt comfortable in the familiar surroundings of the back parlour of 46 Doughty Street.

Looking up at the peaceful visage of Ulrike Meinhof, Carlyle wondered if his father might not be right, after all. The inspector could see how, when the game’s finally over, all life’s hassles just melt away. Knowing that no minor irritant can really stress you out any more must be very liberating.

His morbid musings were interrupted by his host taking a seat on the sofa opposite.

‘It was quite a shock to come home and find that our home had been,’ Barbara Hutton paused, searching for the right word, ‘violated.’

Automatically, the inspector slipped into pseudo-social worker mode. ‘I can imagine,’ he purred, sitting forward and clasping his hands together. ‘This type of event can be very upsetting. It can take a while for people to get over it, for them to again feel confident and secure in their own home.’

‘Yes, I can see that.’ Placing her hands on her knees, Hutton did not appear either insecure or lacking in confidence. Poised and relaxed, she was dressed in a pale blue dress underneath a grey cardigan. ‘Derek was furious when we got back. I thought he was going to have a fit.’ For a moment, Carlyle thought she was about to giggle but she quickly got her amusement under control. ‘It was as if all the benefit of the yoga workshop had been undone within five minutes of us getting home. He stomped off back to work wound up as tightly as ever.’ She shook her head sadly. ‘And a Blue Spirit Retreat doesn’t come cheap, I can tell you.’

‘No, I suppose it doesn’t,’ the inspector said blandly.

‘Now I think I’m going to have to take the poor soul back to Costa Rica again quite soon. Otherwise, he will struggle to make it through the winter.’

The inspector’s mind turned to his upcoming summer holiday – five days at his mother-in-law’s place in Brighton – and tried not to feel too sorry for himself.

‘But I suppose these things happen,’ Hutton said, injecting a little brightness into her voice. ‘And the good news is that I hear that you caught the man responsible?’

‘Yes, indeed.’ Carlyle offered up a summary of Seymour Erikssen’s confession.

‘Quite a fellow,’ Hutton observed. She glanced around the room, as if doing a quick inventory. ‘The thing is, apart from making a bit of a mess, he didn’t seem to take anything.’

Ah. Carlyle made a face.

‘He went rooting around in Derek’s study. I don’t know what he thought he would find in there.’

‘Seymour’s not the sharpest tool in the box,’ Carlyle ventured.

Hutton looked at him, uncomprehending.

‘He’s not very smart,’ the inspector explained. ‘That’s why he gets caught so often.’

She nodded. ‘Still, you would have thought he would have taken something , wouldn’t you? After all, that was the whole point of the exercise, wasn’t it?’

‘Maybe he was disturbed when the police turned up.’

‘Ah, yes. That might be it.’ Getting up, Hutton signalled that the conversation had run its course and it was now time for him to leave. ‘Of course, you did warn us of the dangers, Inspector.’

‘Just part of the job,’ Carlyle replied, struggling to his feet.

‘Thank you for keeping such a close eye on things while we were away.’

She began ushering him towards the door. ‘And thank you for coming back to check on everything.’

‘No problem. Maybe you should look at upgrading your alarm system.’

‘That is a very good idea. Derek said the same thing. He was particularly annoyed that the security cameras didn’t work.’

‘Technology can be tricky,’ the inspector observed. Reaching the entrance to the hallway, he paused. ‘There was just one other matter.’

A brittle smile crept across the woman’s face. ‘Yes?’