Peter Guttridge - City of Dreadful Night

‘And Hathaway and Cuthbert?’

‘Not involved, as far as I’m aware. Though Cuthbert’s on the warpath for you, Jimmy. You need to watch out.’

A thought occurred to me.

‘I don’t suppose you’ve heard anything about Cuthbert in relation to Ditchling last night, have you?’

Nealson smoothed down his comb-over.

‘Well, he would have been in the neighbourhood. He always goes to Plumpton races – prefers it over the jumps to flat-racing. Plus he has a bit of business going on, of course.’

I exchanged a glance with Tingley.

I thanked Nealson and we left about five minutes later.

‘How’s he connected to the gangs?’ I said as we walked through the Laines. ‘Seems too straight.’

‘Accountant,’ Tingley replied. ‘Strictly legit and only handles their legit businesses, but he hears things.’

‘Taking a bit of a risk, isn’t he?’

‘His missus has expensive habits. Most of what he makes goes up her nose or down her gullet.’

I was contemplating her ruined beauty when my mobile rang.

‘Gilchrist,’ I mouthed to Tingley.

‘Had another meeting with Gary Parker,’ she said.

‘And?’

‘He gave us William Simpson’s name. I told Hewitt. She’s not interested.’

‘I’ve a feeling we can do something,’ I said. ‘I feel certain we’re closing in.’

‘That’s not my feeling,’ she said. ‘My feeling is that we don’t have a clue what’s going on.’

‘We have clues aplenty. It’s fitting them together that’s the problem. Let’s meet later at Kate’s place.’

Gilchrist ended the call. She was lying on the bed in Kate’s spare room. She was restless. She jackknifed off the bed and went over to the chest of drawers to change. She opened the top drawer and saw the framed photos lying face down. Absently, she turned them over.

I eventually found a parking space near Kate’s flat – Brighton is not car-friendly – and walked the few hundred yards to her door, working out what I needed to say to her. When she buzzed me in, Gilchrist was sitting on the sofa. Gilchrist gave me an intense look.

‘Kate,’ I said. ‘You don’t need to worry about this stuff that’s going on now. It’s nothing to do with that scare you had.’

‘Are you excluding me?’ Kate said.

‘Just didn’t want to bore you,’ I said. ‘You’re in if you want to be.’

‘Let me find some booze,’ she said, disappearing into the kitchen.

‘Something I want to show you in my bedroom,’ Gilchrist hissed at me.

‘You haven’t found the head in there, have you?’

She looked totally thrown.

‘The Trunk Murder victim?’ I said. ‘Forget it – bad joke.’

Gilchrist looked exasperated.

‘You know, frankly, I don’t really care about that.’

‘About what?’ Kate said, walking back in with a bottle of wine.

The doorbell sounded.

‘That’ll be Tingley,’ I said.

Kate headed for the door. Gilchrist laughed for no reason and stood to usher me towards her bedroom. The moment we were in there she handed me a framed picture.

‘Is that Kate with her parents?’

It was a much younger Kate, and William didn’t have his goatee, but it was unmistakably the family. I nodded.

‘Then we need to talk,’ she said, striding back into the living room.

Kate was ushering Tingley in.

‘Was your meeting with the Godfather useful?’ Kate said to Tingley.

‘Hathaway? Not really. But he put me on to someone else who was much more interesting. And today Bob and I got a little tickle from an acquaintance of mine.’

Gilchrist looked from one to the other of us.

‘Oh, what – there’s some stuff only the boys should know?’

Tingley looked down.

‘Some of this information specifically affects Bob,’ he said. ‘I’m not trying to exclude anyone. If Bob wants to share it with you and Kate, fine.’

‘It’s fine with me,’ I said. ‘But Kate, it also specifically affects you because of your father.’

Kate shifted in her seat.

‘Tell me,’ she said.

‘Your father is behind some bad things,’ Tingley said, his voice unusually gentle.

‘Tell me something I don’t know,’ Kate said, barking a laugh that couldn’t quite conceal her… conceal her what? Dread? Alarm? Fear? There was something, but I didn’t know her well enough to know what she was feeling.

‘He could end up in prison for a very long time,’ I said quietly.

Kate looked at her glass of wine, picked it up and took the smallest of sips.

‘It was only a matter of time,’ she said tonelessly. She put her glass back down on the table, very precisely. I glanced at Gilchrist. She looked like she was about to burst.

‘Did you get anywhere else with Philippa?’ I said to her.

She took a breath. Exhaled.

‘I thought I had. Now I’m not so sure.’

I frowned, but she gave a slight shake of her head.

‘Finch killed Little Stevie,’ she said. ‘That’s the first thing she said.’

‘And the rest?’ I said.

She shrugged.

‘According to Tingley’s source,’ I said, ‘Little Stevie wasn’t the main target. It was the couple in bed.’

‘Who were?’

‘That we still don’t know specifically. Bosnian Serb gangster and his moll, apparently.’

‘Moll?’ Kate said. Then, after a pause: ‘How is my dad involved with Bosnian gangsters?’

‘We think his link is with Little Stevie,’ I said.

Kate reached for her glass but stopped, her hand still outstretched.

‘OK,’ she said. ‘OK.’

Gilchrist was looking at Kate.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

Kate grimaced.

‘As I said: long time coming.’

Gilchrist stood and nodded at me.

‘I think you and I should have another crack at Philippa Franks,’ she said.

‘If you think I can help. When?’

‘Now?’

They took Watts’s car. The moment they were in it, he turned to her:

‘What’s going on?’

‘I recognize Kate’s father,’ she said. ‘William Simpson. I couldn’t think where at first.’

‘You’ve probably seen him on the telly,’ Watts said. ‘He does a lot of broadcasting.’

‘No, from somewhere else. Somewhere here.’ She took a big breath. ‘I saw him having an argument with Philippa Franks in a cafe in Hove a few weeks ago.’

Watts was silent for a moment. Tingley murmured:

‘Bingo.’

‘Hence our need to get back to her,’ Watts said. He looked at Tingley in the rear-view mirror. ‘Do you want to come with us?’

‘You don’t need me. Let’s talk later.’

Watts dropped Tingley on the seafront opposite The Ship and drove on in silence.

‘I assumed it was a lover’s tiff,’ Gilchrist said.

‘It may have been. Even so, it’s heady stuff.’

Watts parked near the entrance to the block of flats and Gilchrist rang Franks’s doorbell.

‘It’s me again. Sarah.’

There was silence, then Franks buzzed them in. They took the lift. Watts seemed embarrassed by their proximity in the lift, but maybe Gilchrist was imagining that.

Franks’s door was ajar. They knocked then walked in. She was standing on her balcony looking out to sea. The noise of the traffic going by on the main drag below ricocheted into the confined space. She saw Gilchrist’s expression.

‘I’d always wanted a place overlooking the sea. Imagined myself sitting out on the balcony of an evening with a glass of wine, listening to my favourite music, watching the sun go down. But the traffic along the sea front – who knew that sound rises? The fact is I can’t hear the music because of the blare of the traffic and the sea frets usually obscure the sun.’ She lifted her glass. ‘At least there’s still the wine.’ She nodded at Watts. ‘Cheers, sir.’