Magda strode purposefully across the office. ‘Thank you, Mr Brown, for agreeing to see us at such short notice.’
While the casino owner’s attention was on his partner, Sean took the chance to glance about. A large tidy office – neatly arranged files on the shelves. Framed photos from various sporting events. Sean focused more closely on an image: a suited Anthony Brown at the edge of a ring posing next to a glistening boxer. Other photos of Brown pitch-side with muddied and bloodied rugby league players. Scrawled signatures from the athletes. Here was a man who sought to associate himself with the macho.
‘Take a seat in the corner,’ he instructed, before turning back to the man sitting before a computer monitor. ‘Right, Gary – I’ll leave that with you.’
‘Fine, boss.’
Sean surveyed the other man as he got up and headed past him for the door. He looked like he’d emptied a few too many steroid-filled syringes into his system. Tattoos all over his fingers.
‘So …’ Anthony Brown rotated round.
‘I am Detective Sergeant Dragomir.’
Her hand was outstretched and Sean spotted the slight look of discomfort on Brown’s face. Shaking hands with a woman. He lifted his fingers and Magda clamped down on them hard. Brown’s face registered surprise then understanding. ‘You’re the boss, then. And you?’ Beady eyes moved to Sean. A trace of amusement.
Sean opened his mouth to reply, but Magda got in first.
‘This is my colleague, Detective Constable Blake.’ Magda still hadn’t relaxed her grip.
Thanks, Sean thought. Answering on my behalf. That’s my lack of status confirmed. He knew Anthony had registered it, too, when the other man didn’t extend a hand in his direction.
‘Let’s make ourselves comfortable,’ Anthony said, turning away and gesturing towards the sofa. He claimed a corner armchair where a half-finished cup of coffee waited on a side table. ‘My secretary said you’re trying to locate someone. Correct?’
‘Yes, that is correct,’ Magda replied.
Sean realized, when she was speaking formally, her clipped tone made her sound like she was from Germany. Or was it Russia? Enough to conjure images of cold, authoritarian regimes, anyway.
‘My colleague here has the image I mentioned. DC Blake?’
Sean unzipped his attaché case and placed a grainy image of Army Coat man on the table.
Brown leaned forward, lifting his coffee cup as he did so. He drained the last of his drink before taking another look. ‘Nope,’ he said. ‘Can’t say I know him.’
Magda’s gaze didn’t shift from Brown’s face. ‘We think this man is someone you might have known many years ago. While at school.’
‘School. Bloody hell! You really are going back. School. Well, that wasn’t somewhere I paid much attention.’ He circled a hand. ‘Luckily, honest, hard toil can be enough. Don’t need top grades to do well in life, as you can see.’
What Sean could see was Magda’s posture become more rigid. ‘It’s in connection to a few recent deaths. Ones we’re treating as murder.’
‘That canal thing? Yes, you told me on the phone.’ Brown sent a wink in Magda’s direction before glancing at Sean. ‘Lee Goodwin.’
Sean saw his chance to become more than a passive observer. ‘And also two other deaths. All of the victims knew each other. They all went to Belle Vue High School.’
‘Same as me. Though I bunked off, mostly. School of Life, that’s me.’ His eyes flicked to Magda once more. A goading glint. ‘Lee, yeah, I remember Lee. Destined for an early check-out, even back then. The other two?’
‘Phil Nordern. He was found in Debdale Lake.’
‘Nordern? Good chum of Lee’s, as I recall. Need I say more?’
‘And the third victim – stabbed to death in his living room – was Kevin Rowe.’ Sean stopped talking to study Brown’s reaction. When they’d conducted a more detailed follow-up on Kevin Rowe, it had revealed the junior football team he managed had a familiar surname in the squad. Brown. The side, as it turned out, was also sponsored by a casino, of all things. The one they were now sitting in.
Brown sat back, breath going slowly out of him. Sean wanted to smile. For displays of having the wind knocked out of your sails, it was one of the cheesiest he’d ever seen.
‘I take it you remember Mr Rowe?’ he asked.
Anthony was staring at the table, seemingly now unable to speak.
‘That appears to have been quite a shock, sir.’
Brown made a point of keeping his head bowed for a couple more seconds. He ran a hand slowly over his mouth.
Come on, thought Sean. We haven’t got all day.
‘Kev …’ Brown cleared his throat. ‘Kev’s been murdered?’
‘Regretfully, yes.’
‘Jesus. That’s … Jesus: he’s got a son! Nine years old. Plays football with my lad, Dean … I don’t believe this.’
‘Is it likely Mr Rowe was still familiar with Mr Goodwin or Mr Nordern?’ Magda asked.
‘Those two? I doubt it. Do you?’
Magda frowned. ‘Sorry?’
‘Have any contact with people you were at school with?’ He glanced at Sean. ‘You, maybe. You don’t look like you left that long ago. But,’ he looked at Magda, ‘for people of your … maturity.’
Nice one, thought Sean. Slotted that one in brilliantly.
Brown made a show of swallowing. ‘Stabbed, you say?’
‘We know Mr Rowe had certain financial arrangements with Mr Nordern,’ Magda said. ‘There’s a chance he had similar ones with Mr Goodwin. Are you aware of Mr Rowe’s business arrangements?’
‘Business arrangements? He was a window cleaner, pet. Employee list of one: him. Maybe he paid those two to help out every now and again, I don’t know.’
‘And you can’t think of any reason why these men might have been targeted?’ Magda asked.
Brown shook his head then directed a forefinger at Magda. ‘I hope you have, though.’ He sat forward. ‘Whoever’s behind this better be found.’
Sean noticed he was studiously avoiding the image of Army Coat lying right under his nose.
‘We’re confident of that, sir, don’t you worry,’ Magda said, sliding the photocopy back to Sean.
Anthony gave a bob of his head. ‘Good. And anything you think of how I can help, call. I’ll do anything I can, I promise.’
‘Thank you, that’s appreciated,’ Magda said, getting to her feet. ‘We can see ourselves out.’
‘Turn right at the bottom, yeah?’ Anthony said, sitting back.
As they set off down the stairs, she spoke from the corner of her mouth. ‘Camera behind us. He’ll be watching.’
Only once they were clear of the building and on the next street, did she let out a sigh. ‘Did you hear him? When he said about school being so long ago for me. As if I’m close to being retired. Cheeky bastard.’
Sean laughed. ‘I only picked up on the dig at me for only just having left!’
Magda scowled. ‘That, too.’
‘Got us both at once, didn’t he? Quite skilful, I have to say.’
‘Skilful? What did you think of his reaction to when you dropped Kevin Rowe’s name?’
‘Crap. Really crap. He obviously knew already. Thing is: how? There’s been no official announcement.’
They were now almost at the Chinese Arch, their car in the small parking area beside it. The narrow roads around them were lined with a variety of Asian restaurants. Magda’s head turned. ‘Have you ever tried this place?’
Sean looked across at the nondescript shop on the corner. Handwritten notices plastered the windows, all of them written in Chinese. A small sign above the door said Ho’s Bakery. ‘No.’
She clapped her hands. ‘Then you are in for a treat.’
He spotted a menu with English words. Pork Chop Bun. Chicken Curry Bun. Satay Beef Pasty. Sweet Bean Dumpling.
‘Seriously? That just sounds weird.’
‘Weird, but in a good way. Come on, we’ll take some back for our lunch.’
Sean followed her up the steep steps into the shop. Its interior was plain to the point of austere. The smell of melted sugar, fresh dough and curry sauce filled the air. A long counter bisected the room and behind it, several men tended a row of silver ovens. Two young women waited behind a section of glass displays, plastic tongs at the ready. Magda worked her way along, pointing to items. In no time, she was back at Sean’s side brandishing four brown paper bags. ‘You can pay me back later.’
‘OK,’ Sean said, taking them. The rolls and buns inside were all warm. Halfway back to the car, Sean’s phone went. Unknown number on the screen. ‘Hello, this is DC Blake.’
‘Mr – Detective Blake. It’s Colin Marshall from Street Eats?’
The man they’d spoken to at the food bank. ‘Yes, Colin, I remember.’
‘You said to call if we spotted Manny or Frankie.’
Sean lifted a finger in Magda’s direction. She came to a swift stop. ‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘Any luck?’
‘Yes. I’m with them right now. I explained the situation and they’re OK about having a chat.’
‘Really? That’s brilliant. Where are you?’
‘You know the Manchester Craft Centre in the Northern Quarter?’
‘I do.’
‘It has a rear entrance which leads on to a quiet little side street.’
‘OK.’
‘They’re happy to meet you there.’