Bad Sons (Booker & Cash Book 1) (14 page)

She was engrossed in searching for something at the rear of the storage space and seemed not to have noticed my arrival. I coughed for attention. She stood up quickly and banged her head, swore quite well and gave me a look that made me wish I’d whistled as I’d approached.

I tried a smile. ‘Afternoon.’

She regarded me coolly. My attempt to defuse her clear displeasure at my appearance was to explain who I was and where I had come from. It seemed to have a positive effect. She no longer looked like she was going to run me out of the yard for trespassing. She came out into the light to speak with me.

‘I heard about what happened to your folks. I liked them. I did some work for them a couple of months back. Nice people. What made them do it?’

‘Do what?’

‘A suicide pact. That’s why they’re dead, isn’t it?’ She must have caught my look of surprise. ‘That’s what people are saying at any rate.’

‘No one knows. I’m trying to piece together the last hours they were alive. I was wondering if you were around here last Wednesday evening. That’s the time they went missing.’

She gave it some thought and started to shake her head. ‘Sorry. I wasn’t in here at all on Wednesday.’

As I was thanking her for her time a vehicle approached up the shared track off the high street. I turned to see an expensive, shiny, big, black four-by-four bouncing up the way. The vehicle swung in and came to a stop in front of the yellow container with a crunch of skidding gravel. No one got out and because of its tinted windows I couldn’t make out the occupants. The engine idled.

‘Who’s that?’ I said.

She turned away from it. ‘Flashman’s boy.’

‘Maybe I should ask him.’

She snorted. ‘I doubt he was here. It’s the first time I’ve seen him in weeks.’

‘Doesn’t he work for his father?’

‘Work? Dennis Flashman? Do me a favour. He has no idea what it is to want for anything. That boy has two purposes in this life: turning good food into shit and pissing people off. I can’t comment on how well he does at the first but he’s top of the class for the second.’

The engine died and the driver’s door opened. A tall well-built young man stepped out of the vehicle. He stared over in my direction for a long pause and then made up his mind for a closer look. As he approached, I could see he exuded the confidence money and a spoilt upbringing often bring. He was casually dressed in narrow jeans and a jean jacket. I thought there were cowboy boots on his feet and had to look harder. There were.

‘What are you doing in here?’ He was talking to me.

Up close he was quite a size. His eyes were shielded behind wrap-around designer sunglasses. His sense of superiority was one day going to be his undoing. I briefly considered whether he’d ever been tested.

There was something else about him that struck me – I wondered whether he was on something. I couldn’t say why exactly, but there was something in his manner, his bearing, his speech, his mannerisms, his confidence, that prompted the thought.

‘What’s it got to do with you?’ I said.

‘If you don’t have business in here, you’re trespassing.’

‘He’s talking to me,’ said the plumber. ‘You got a problem with that?’

He regarded her violently. No one spoke for too long.

‘You’re Flashman the builder’s son, right?’

He switched his attention back to me. ‘What about it?’

‘I’m the nephew of the Bookers.’

He surprised me then. ‘I know who you are. So what?’

It struck me he also knew my relatives’ fate. And he didn’t give a care.

His open hostility disturbed me enough to say, ‘Have we met?’

He shook his head slowly.

I tried him for some information: ‘A little while ago your father approached my relatives regarding whether they would be selling their property.’

That interested him enough to lower his levels of obvious animosity. ‘And?’

‘Did they give him an answer?’

He took a step towards me. ‘Is that supposed to be funny, arsehole?’

I was confused. ‘Look, I don’t know what your problem is, but I’m just asking you a simple question. If you can’t give me a civil answer, forget it. I’ll speak to the organ grinder.’

His mouth twisted into something unpleasant then. He would have called it a smile. Whatever it was, I felt something clammy crawl down my spine.

‘When you’ve finished your business with her, fuck off and don’t let me see you in here again.’

‘I’ll mention your manners to your father when I speak to him. I’ll also let him know that if he still wants to buy the property – something that now belongs to me – your mouth and bad manners just put the asking price up.’

I think he would have liked to hit me then, but perhaps felt that with his father’s designs on my property he’d better not.

Instead, he made a gun of his finger and thumb and said, ‘I won’t forget you.’ And fired.

He wandered off back towards his pick-up whistling tunelessly.

The plumber moved behind me. ‘I’d be careful with him if I were you. He’s not stupid and what he lacks in ambition to do a day’s work he more than makes up for in nastiness. I’d say you just put yourself firmly on his bad side.’

‘I’ve got something he wants, or his father does. Is he stupid enough to jeopardise his chances of getting it?’

‘That wouldn’t be a case of stupidity. He just wouldn’t give a shit. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

I thanked her again and headed for the exit. As I passed his vehicle the bastard hit his air-horns, shattering the peace and making me jump a good six inches. I could hear him laughing in the cab as I walked away.

***

21

Back up to the flat for coffee. Back staring out of the window waiting for the kettle. Flashman’s pick-up was still outside the yellow container. One of the container doors was open. I found that odd. I was sure the labourer who’d I’d spoken to in The Ocean had said that particular unit was rented by a Londoner for storage of his seaside toys. I had no chance of seeing inside from where I was standing.

My mobile beeped, indicating a missed call. It was Detective Cash’s number. That gave me a ripple of gratification that disconcerted me and was nothing to do with the law. I called her back.

‘Hello, Mr Booker.’

‘I’m not sure I should be talking to you without my legal counsel present.’

‘What are you talking about?’ She didn’t sound annoyed.

I recounted my visit to the solicitors.

‘Well, perhaps I might have some good news for you in that regard. I was calling to let you know, strictly off the record, that my governor might be moving away from the idea that you have any involvement in your relatives’ deaths.’

She didn’t have to do that. I’d bet she didn’t do it for all her suspects.

‘Really? And what has brought that change on?’

‘We call it evidence. We’re not blinkered to new interpretations of old information.’

‘So, does that mean he is focussing his investigative skills in another direction?’

‘That, I can’t discuss with you. Sorry.’ She didn’t particularly sound it.

‘How about a drink then?’ I surprised myself with my forwardness. It wasn’t something I’d planned.

Her reply, when it came, gave me the first opportunity to detect the hint of a fissure in her confident exterior. ‘Pardon?’

She’d heard me. She didn’t give me an outright
no
. She was buying some time. That amused me.

‘If I’m no longer on your list of suspects would you consider having a drink with me? I don’t have any friends around here these days and I’m fed up of hanging around this flat on my own of an evening feeling morose.’

‘When you put it like that, Mr Booker, no thanks.’

‘Just being honest.’

‘I must say I’m a little shocked by your honesty then.’

‘It is discouraging, Detective Cash, how many people are shocked by honesty and how few by deceit.’

‘Have you been drinking, again?’

‘I’ve not touched a drop all day,’ I lied.

‘Maybe you should start then. You sound like you need one. Goodbye, Mr Booker.’

‘See you around, Detective.’

That could have gone better. I was left feeling a hollow smugness and that I was going to be spending another evening alone. But maybe that was just as well.

Flashman’s pick-up had gone.

I looked at the time then ignored the re-boiled kettle and followed Detective Cash’s advice. The sun was approaching the yardarm. I took a cold bottle of ale out of the fridge and saw it was the last one. I put it back and used its solitary state as an excuse to leave the house in search of reinforcements. It could be a long night and a trip to the supermarket would kill fifteen minutes. I wouldn’t feel like going out for supplies after I’d started.

*

Twenty minutes later I came back around the building with my carrier bag of provisions tinkling gently against each other like a cheap wind-chime. I had a visitor. He was wasting his time and energy banging on the back door. I recognised him with a sinking feeling: Flashman senior.

He was as tall as his offspring but carried the extra bulk of an indulgent lifestyle without exercise. I noticed his hands. They were enormous, like a pair of shovels. What there was of his face that hadn’t been overgrown by beard was ruddy and weathered. He had the nose of a man who liked the hard stuff – often. The windows to his soul were hidden behind tinted spectacles, but I didn’t need to see into those to understand he felt visiting me was costing him valuable time – that he had no room for fools, time-wasters or flippancy in his busy life.

He said, ‘You’re the Bookers’ nephew.’

To my recollection, we’d never spoken before but we’d shared the same village for several years. I’d seen him around; he must have seen me coming and going.

I tried him at his own game. It was my home ground after all. ‘And you’re Flashman the builder.’

He gave me a smile that appeared to hurt him. He took in my carrier bag.

‘Drinking alone?’

‘If I have to.’

‘Come over the road and let me buy you one.’

‘Why?’

‘I have a business proposition for you and I’d rather discuss it sitting down being civilised than standing around in back yards.’

I could have declined but having nothing better to do I agreed. It would have been rude not to. I dumped the bag inside the rear door, locked up and followed him over.

*

Pam raised her eyebrows at me when she saw the company I was keeping. I raised mine back in what I hoped was an I-have-no-idea-either way.

Flashman asked me what I’d have, indicated a table and that I should sit at it. He went to the bar, ordered and returned with two of the same. After setting one down in front of me he raised his glass and, out of courtesy, I felt obliged to mirror him.

When we’d both taken a good draught, he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, showing something of the roots he’d never leave behind, no matter how many Range Rovers he went through.

‘A terrible thing with your aunt and uncle. My condolences.’

‘Did you know them well?’ I was still playing dumb.

‘Your aunt better than your uncle.’ That surprised me. ‘Have the police formed a theory for what happened to them?’

His lenses had cleared and I could feel his hard eyes searching my face.

‘Nothing yet, as far as I know. They seem to be as mystified by what has happened as everyone else.’

‘Do they suspect foul play?’

I decided to keep what Sprake had revealed of my uncle’s death to myself. ‘Let’s just say they’re keeping an open mind.’

He took another sip of his drink. It felt like a cue for a change of topic, so I gave him a nudge. ‘What is it you want to talk to me about?’

He knew I knew why we were there. He had to have done. His son had probably mentioned our encounter and he’d jumped straight in his car and come round. The fact we were sitting together over a drink so quickly also told me two other things: he was very keen to explore the opportunity to purchase the property and, by dint of the fact that I had agreed to speak with him, he must be confident I was not averse to the idea of talking to him about it. But the charade had to be played out.

‘I’ll be straight with you and I hope you’ll be straight with me.’ I nodded. ‘I told you I wanted to speak to you about business and that’s all it is. While your relatives’ deaths are regrettable and sad, life goes on for the rest of us. I understand you will be their sole heir. Is that right?’

The directness and intensity of his pitch and demeanour intimidated me enough to be straight with him – to a point. ‘It looks like it. I don’t know of any other relatives. Until the will is read I can’t say for sure.’