Peter Guttridge - The Last King of Brighton

Cuthbert’s look burned.

‘Anyway, Steve. Finally, you and your scum family are getting what your breed deserved back then. Just so you know. Everyone is going.’

Hathaway was aware that Dave’s attention jerked to him when he said that. He continued:

‘Your wife. The not-so-little uns – they’ve already got ASBOs, haven’t they? Your brother and his family. Your sister – and she’s definitely no loss, scag that she is. You were scum. You are scum. And none of you deserve to smear the future.’

He nodded at Dave. Dave looked uncertain. Hathaway waited. Cuthbert started to turn his head. Dave raised his hand and shot Cuthbert through the temple. Cuthbert’s head snapped away then rolled sharply forward, his body tilted in the chair.

Dave looked at his handiwork, then down at the floor.

‘Wish he’d said more,’ he said finally.

Hathaway turned away.

‘Nobody ever says enough. Or they say too much.’

Tingley looked at the drinks Watts brought over to their table in the garden of the old pub beneath the Downs.

‘What is that?’ Tingley said.

Watts picked up his glass and peered at it.

‘This year’s black. Or something. Cider. Nice.’

Tingley tutted.

‘Cider is either for teenagers sitting on park benches or – well – old winos sitting on park benches. Which are you?’

‘Ha. There’s not a park bench in sight.’

Tingley’s phone rang. He didn’t recognize the number. He shrugged at Watts and put the phone to his ear.

‘Tingles, it’s Dave. Don’t say anything, just listen.’

He sounded winded.

‘Thought you should know things have kicked off. Hathaway’s restaurant at the marina was torched and he sent me to the Grand with a message for three Serbs staying there.’

‘Was one called Radislav?’ Tingley said.

‘I said just listen,’ Dave said fiercely. ‘Then we snatched Cuthbert. Thought you’d be pleased about that.’

‘Where is he?’

Dave was quiet for a moment, though Tingley could hear his ragged breathing.

‘I’ve crossed a line. I don’t regret it. Cuthbert was a shit. You know his loan sharking? Once people borrowed from him he had them for life. He charged interest rates that worked out as high as a couple of thousand per cent.’ Dave was speaking more quickly. ‘He lent this nurse five hundred quid to buy a computer for her daughter. Over seven years he’s demanded eighty-eight thousand pounds from her. She had two strokes and a brain haemorrhage from the stress. He was a bastard.’

Tingley saw Watts get up from the table and walk away, fishing his own phone out of his pocket. Watts put it to his ear.

‘But Hathaway was talking of doing Cuthbert’s entire family. Blaming the Serbs. There’s no need for that, so I’m letting you know. The other – well, it’s a kind of war.’

Before Tingley could say anything, Dave hung up. He put his phone on the table and watched Watts walk back over.

‘That was Dave. It’s kicked off. Hathaway’s restaurant at the marina was torched. Something has gone on with Balkan gangsters at the Grand and I think Cuthbert might be dead.’

Watts slumped down.

‘That was Gilchrist. She can’t join us as she’s down at the Grand. There are three dead Balkan gangsters there after a gun battle on the fourth floor.’

‘Radislav among them?’

‘Apparently not. Was Dave one of the shooters?’

‘I don’t know. But I think he might have killed Cuthbert.’

Tingley told him the rest of Dave’s message. Before he’d even finished Watts was phoning Hewitt to get protection to Cuthbert’s family as soon as possible.

Watts put his phone back in his pocket and he and Tingley just looked at each other.

Tingley had never known peace. He knew how he appeared – calm and matter of fact. It was a front he maintained by rigid self-control. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt relaxed, though he also couldn’t remember when he could afford to relax.

Gaza, Lebanon, Iran for the Israelis. Iraq, both times. In the nineties, the Balkans, of course, that cesspit. Just back from Afghanistan. And now this. The Balkans on his doorstep.

‘Strictly speaking this isn’t any of our business,’ he said. ‘You’re examining a cold case and liaising between different people about the West Pier.’

‘True. But Stewart Nealson was a friend of yours, wasn’t he?’

‘Not exactly a friend…’

‘And Radislav is the one that got away.’

‘Not the only one…’

Watts gave him a long look and Tingley nodded. He brought out a sheaf of papers from his jacket pocket.

‘Radislav is somewhere outside Birmingham, lying low with his men. Drago Kadire, an Albanian, and another big name – Miklos Verbalin – were the Brighton forward brigade at the Grand. Verbalin is one of the dead. The other two are presumably foot soldiers.’

‘But Kadire got away with some of his men.’

Tingley nodded.

‘And Radislav will come running.’

‘Who will they go for?

‘Hathaway – who else?’

‘Did Dave say where Hathaway is?’

Tingley shook his head.

‘Let’s find out,’ Watts said.

Hathaway answered on the first ring.

‘It’s Bob Watts.’

‘How nice to hear from you, ex-Chief Constable, though your timing could be better.’

‘Got a lot on your plate, have you?’

‘The cross all entrepreneurs must bear.’

‘Sorry to hear about your restaurant.’

‘Yes, that was uncalled for. A malicious act.’

‘So was whacking three of the Grand’s paying guests.’

‘Well, they’ve paid now, that’s for sure.’

‘You know that isn’t going to end it?’

‘I think it might.’

‘Vlad is still out there.’

Hathaway said nothing.

‘What have you done to Cuthbert?’

Again silence.

‘His family are in protective custody by now.’

Hathaway sighed.

‘Oh dear. Dave did seem to take that very hard, though I did warn him that once he came in, he was in all the way.’

‘You’re not going to hurt him?’ Watts said. Tingley raised a questioning eyebrow.

‘No, no. Just reassign him.’

‘We need to talk to you.’

‘I get that a lot. OK. Come down to the marina. I’m on my boat. I might have something for you.’

Sarah Gilchrist and Reg Williamson got there first. They’d already been to the house on Tongdean Drive to try to question Hathaway about the torching of his bar and the deaths at the Grand.

They stood on the boardwalk now looking at the charred remains of The Buddha. Williamson had his jacket over his shoulder, his belly straining at his crumpled shirt. He looked out over the harbour, shading his eyes with his hand.

‘He’s on one of those boats.’

They walked along a narrow wooden walkway past boats of every shape and size. There was a large double-decker cruiser at the far end with a gaggle of tough-looking men standing before it. Subtle. As they got nearer, a broad-shouldered black guy stepped towards them.

‘Can I help you?’

Williamson produced his warrant card.

‘Looking for Mr Hathaway.’

The man shrugged.

‘Can’t help you.’

Williamson smiled thinly.

‘Won’t wash, mate. Either we go on or he comes off.’

‘It’s all right, Dave.’

Williamson and Gilchrist looked up at the sound of the voice. The tall, good-looking man standing on the rear deck gave a startlingly Simon Cowell-like grin and waved them aboard.

The two policemen were still there when Hathaway and Tingley arrived. Dave had come on board to alert Hathaway of their approach when they were a couple of hundred yards away.