Adam was jittery. Had been all day since he’d bought the precious goods.
He imagined that the little box containing the ring, lodged in his jacket pocket, was giving off some sort of homing beacon signal, and every time Helena’s eyes drifted towards it, he’d asked her what she was looking at. It seems he’d snapped at her too many times.
‘What is up with you today?’ she sighed, as she lifted his plate and took it to the dishwasher.
‘Nothing. Sorry. I’m just tired.’
‘Well, for everyone’s sake, go to bed early. I’ve got yoga soon, so I’m going to go and get ready.’
She touched his shoulder gently as she walked past him on her way to the bedroom, and he flinched, thinking she was going to shake him down to find out what he was hiding.
Thankfully, she didn’t notice.
When he looked at his phone, he saw a message from Colin, asking if he was still on for the pub later.
Just for one pint, he typed, before pocketing his phone.
‘I’m going to have to propose soon,’ he said, lifting the glass and clinking it against Colin’s. ‘I’m going out of my bloody mind. I’m fully convinced she’s ex-Spetsnaz and that she knows exactly what I’m up to.’
‘Spetsnaz?’
‘Russian Secret Service.’
‘You’ve been playing too much Call of Duty.’
‘Maybe,’ he agreed. ‘I’m just so worried she’s going to go into my pocket to look for change or whatever, and find it. I need to get it done.’
‘Get it done. Ever the romantic.’
‘You know what I mean,’ Adam laughed, throwing a pack of nuts at his friend’s face and catching him square in the forehead.
They sank back in their seats and enjoyed the fire crackling heartily in the hearth. Fairy lights twinkled and lush garlands ran along the bar top. The atmosphere in the pub was jovial and Elton John was blasting through the sound system, urging everyone to Step into Christmas. A few would-be karaoke singers were mouthing along while some Strictly wannabes were already shaking their moneymakers on the dancefloor.
On his phone, Adam accessed the picture of the alleyway and pushed it across the table. Colin took it and gave it a brief look.
‘Flip me, there’s a lot of blood. Looks like a still from a noir film. What am I looking for?’
‘The footprints.’
‘What about them?’
‘The fact they’re there, and they shouldn’t be.’
‘But you were there.’
‘Yeah, but we came from the side of the alley that we’re standing on. Neither Helena or me had been past the body when she took the photo.’
‘So those footprints belong to someone else.’
‘Ding ding ding! We have a winner.’
‘And I’m assuming you’re thinking that they belong to the killer?’
‘Why else would they be there? No one is going to walk past a body and not do anything about it.’
‘Maybe whoever they belong to went to get help? Or find a phone in a shop or something?’
‘Yeah, maybe. But there’s an invention now called the mobile phone, and most people have one.’
Colin ignored the sarcasm. ‘So, what are you going to do?’
‘I think I’ll show the photo to the police, see what they think.’
‘Good idea.’ Colin passed the phone back across the table. ‘Now, back to the proposal. What are you thinking? Something elaborate? Hot air balloon, or a dove carrying it to her or something like that?’
‘Nothing tacky. Just something simple.’
‘Probably for the best.’
‘Do you want me to be there for morale support?’
‘Thanks, mate, but I reckon I’ll be okay.’
They laughed and touched glasses together again, and Adam was reminded once again how good of a friend Colin was to him.
The next day, Adam sat in the uncomfortable seat, squirming. A heater blasted the room with everything it had, causing sweat to crusade down his forehead and pool in his armpits. He wondered if the copper sitting opposite him was using these techniques to make Adam feel uneasy. If he was, it was working.
‘And what’s this supposed to be exactly?’ DI Whitelaw asked.
‘It’s a photo of the alleyway when we found Gerald’s body.’
‘Bloody reporter now, are you? The bit of detective work on the side not enough for you?’
‘My girlfriend took it. She’s a nurse and thought it could be helpful down the line.’
‘Good of her. You hired her for your agency yet?’
‘Look, I know I’ve made you and your team look stupid in the past,’ Adam snapped, unable to stop himself. ‘I just thought you might be interested in potential evidence.’
‘Evidence? Of what?’
‘Murder.’
‘Don’t talk daft, lad. We were all there. Drunk as a skunk, he was. You could smell the fumes from Meadowfield. Took a tumble and bashed his head. It’s unfortunate, but there’s certainly no foul play here.’
‘And what about the footprints?’
‘All they show is that someone else was in the alley at some stage. All sorts of drunks and scallies hang around there.’
‘But…’
‘Listen to me,’ Whitelaw said. ‘There is no crime. Do you hear me? Don’t go kicking that hornet’s nest, ‘cos all you’ll get is a big old sting, and no one needs that around Christmas time, do they?’
‘Always a pleasure,’ Adam said, as he stood up and walked towards the door.
‘Oh, and delete that photo, would you? It’s voyeuristic and weird that you’ve got a snuff picture on your phone.’
‘A snuff picture? So, you’re saying he was murdered?’ Adam replied.
‘What?’
‘A snuff movie is where someone is murdered on screen. Are you now saying he was killed, or are you just trying to sound cool?’
‘I got my words wrong, alright?’ He shrugged. ‘Now, delete it or I’ll have you chucked in the cells, no questions asked.’
Adam knew Whitelaw was blowing hot air, but couldn’t resist winding him up a bit more. ‘For what?’
‘Wasting police time.’
Adam left the police station and called Colin, who answered immediately.
‘How’d it go?’
‘As expected,’ Adam replied. ‘DI Whitelaw was incredibly helpful and courteous and I have full faith in his ability to take the case forward. It’s lovely to see that he has turned over a new leaf.’
‘I can hear the sarcasm dripping from here.’
‘He dismissed it without any questions. I think we should have a little nosey into it.’
‘That means talking to Marty.’
‘Yeah, true. But it does look suspicious.’
‘Fine,’ Colin sighed. ‘As always, Adam Whyte is right.’
‘That could be my campaign slogan if I ever ran for mayor.’
‘What’s the plan, then?’
‘Shall I meet you at eight o’clock tonight at Wilson’s?’
‘Wilson’s? Jesus, have you a death wish?’
‘It’s where Marty will be,’ Adam said.
‘Alright. If we have to. But you’re buying the drinks.’
Wilson’s Bar was on the wrong side of town, near the vegan food stores and hippy clothing bazaars. If you were ever hankering for an illicit high, this was the pub for you.
Colin pushed the door open, imagining he was an out-of-towner barging his way into a foreign saloon. The décor hadn’t been changed since the place had opened, and that had been some time in the 70s. No attempt had been made at making the bar look even a little bit Christmassy. Heads swung around and brows furrowed at this newcomer who they’d never set eyes on before.
Colin stared back and walked to the bar, Adam cowering behind him.
‘Two pints of lager, please.’
The bar man set down the filthy rag he was wiping the bar top with and sighed pointedly, like pouring drinks was a huge inconvenience or outside his skillset. When they were done, he pushed the glasses towards them, spilling a good amount from each one. Colin looked at the spillage, and then at the bar man.
‘Are we going to have a problem here?’ the bar man asked.
‘No problem. No problem at all,’ Adam said. ‘Thank you so much for your service.’
The bar man grunted and started to turn away.
‘Is Marty in tonight?’ Colin said.
‘Might be. Who wants to know?’
‘I want to know.’
‘He’s in the back room, at the table. I doubt he’d want to be disturbed.’
Adam and Colin ambled off, making a point not to thank him. Colin abhorred rudeness, so felt a little bit bad, but also felt like the bar man deserved it. They pushed through a door that led to a narrow corridor, walked past the toilets (which were letting out an unholy stench) and stood outside a door with a sign proclaiming it as the room designated for staff use only.
Colin knew this was a lie.
The Back Room was part of Stonebridge folklore. All sorts of illegal activities took place behind this famous faded door, if the stories were to be believed. Drugs, gambling, bare-knuckle boxing. Their late friend, Danny Costello, once claimed to have been in there when a cock fight happened, though no one believed him.
Faced with this door, even the usually unflappable Colin was feeling nervous. He raised a shaking hand and knocked lightly. Inside, the screech of a chair scraping across stone flooring sounded and a few seconds later the door opened an inch. A beady brown eye appeared.
‘What?’
‘Can we have a word with Marty,’ Colin said.
The man replied with words unprintable here, and went to shut the door.
‘We think he’ll want to hear what we have to say,’ Adam said, pushing his foot into the gap, so that the door couldn’t close.
‘He can be the judge of that,’ the voice inside scoffed. ‘Now, move your foot before I remove it with force.’
The eye disappeared and a minute later, the door was thrown open. Marty Hesketh was even bigger than Colin remembered him to be. His hair was a matted mess and his eyes were bright blue and wild. He was wearing a vest, despite the Wintery chill in the air, and had to turn sideways to get through the door. His arms were covered in tattoos that looked like a blind man had inked them.
‘What?’ he asked, closing the door behind him.
‘We’ve heard rumours that the police are wanting to speak to you about Gerald Agnew’s death. We’re having a look into it too, and were wondering if you could answer a few questions?’
‘A few questions about what? I didn’t do nothing.’
Adam wanted to point out the double-negative, but also wanted to keep his face the way it was.
‘Look,’ said Colin. ‘We know you weren’t involved, but if you could answer a couple of our questions, we can help clear you. Officially.’
‘Are you detectives?’
‘We kind of are, yeah.’
The big man studied their faces for a minute.
‘Oh, I know who you two are now. I’ve seen you in the papers. The two lads who keep making the police look like idiots. Aye, I’ll talk to you, but only because I’m due a cigarette break. Let’s go outside.’
They walked down the corridor, Marty following behind them like the boulder in Raiders of the Lost Ark. They pushed the back door open, which led them to a smoking area and beer garden, though the term garden was rather grandiose for what it was.
They stood under a sloping roof to protect them from the drizzle. Marty used a huge hand to shelter the cigarette from the wind while he lit it.
‘Ask away, fellas. I’ve nothing to hide,’ he said, blowing a lungful of smoke into the atmosphere.
‘Did you see Gerald the night he died?’
‘I believe I might’ve.’
‘In the alley next to Baldwin’s?’
‘Yep.’
‘Why?’
‘Because, he’d nicked my spot. Everyone who’s homeless knows that that doorway is the best in the town. The pipes from the shop next door give out a wee bit of warmth and Brownley’s throw all its unsold food in the big bin outside.’
‘And you wanted it back?’
‘Too right I did. Gerald was a legend in town, but that was my spot. I couldn’t believe it when I saw him lying in it with all his stuff.’
‘What happened?’
‘I pulled him up by his shirt and we had it out. Verbally, I might add, detectives.’ He added the last word with a little wink, before carrying on. ‘We came to an arrangement. He could have the spot for the night, and I could have some of his wares.’
‘Wares?’
‘Aye. Gerald had started dabbling in the world of drug dealing. I told him it was a stupid idea. Everyone knows that Stu has a monopoly on the area, and isn’t shy about dealing with anyone who thinks they can muscle in on his patch.’
‘And what did he say?’
‘Told me he was making good money through it, and that he’d be off the streets before Stu even got wind of what he was doing. I told him that Stu probably already did know what he was doing, and that if I were him, I’d throw the rest of the drugs in the river and plead innocence.’
The thought of Marty Hesketh being afraid of anyone was almost humorous, but the myths and legends of Stu Finnegan’s behaviour circled around Stonebridge like a cautionary tale. Even the police were afraid of him.
‘You think Stu could’ve killed Gerald?’ Adam asked.
‘Mmhmm. And afterwards, he would’ve walked away without so much as a second thought. We done here?’
‘One more question,’ Adam said. ‘Was it snowing when you spoke to Gerald?’
‘No, it was sunny. Why?’
‘No reason. Thanks for your time, dude.’
Adam held up a fist for Marty to bump. Marty looked at the fist, snorted derisorily at the gesture, and sauntered back to whatever unlawful activity awaited him in The Back Room.
‘Smooth,’ Colin said, as they left via the back gate.