Faithfully: Chase & Halshaw #1 (16 page)

“Good evening, sir. Can I help you?” asked the maître d’.

“Yes,” replied Chase, glancing around the restaurant. “I’m
supposed to be meeting someone here, but I think I might be first.”

“Do you have a reservation?”

“Yes. In the name of Allen. I’m a minute or two early, I’m
afraid.”

The maître d’ nodded impassively. “Not a problem, sir.
Please follow me.”

He ushered Chase to a small table laid for two, one of a
serried rank of two- and four-seat polished mahogany tables that lined the
terracotta walls of the narrow restaurant. Chase slid into the seat that backed
against the wall. The maître d’ shook out the intricately folded napkin with a
theatrical flourish and laid it on his lap.

A white-jacketed waiter materialised behind the maître d’.
“Some wine, sir?” he asked.

“In a while, probably. Can I have a beer to be going on
with, please?”

“Of course, sir. Kronenbourg?”

“Perfect. Thank you.”

“Yes, sir.”

Chase looked around. The restaurant was deeper than it
appeared from outside, but was still cramped and narrow. Almost every table was
occupied, by couples and families. The line of large cheese plants was still
there, but instead of the large round table it screened a stack of dining
chairs and two small tables, one upturned on top of the other.

“Here you are, sir,” said the waiter, placing a tall lager
glass on the table.

“Thanks.”

The waiter bustled away without another word. Chase looked
expectantly at the glass, at the perfect head of foam, at the beads of
condensation that trickled down the sides. He could feel his mouth begin to
water. What was it My Lady had said? Anticipation is at least half the
pleasure? He made himself wait another couple of seconds, and then took his
first, grateful sip.

Several minutes passed. Chase nursed his drink, becoming
more and more agitated. Was she going to come or not? He found himself almost
praying that she would come. Or if not, then at least phone him, to spare him
the embarrassment of sitting there alone. He was becoming aware of the curious
and pitying stares of some of his fellow diners. He took out his phone, and
checked that the signal was strong and the battery charged. He drained his
glass and ordered another beer.

The waiter was just returning with his second lager when he
saw her. Thank God, he sighed, his relief overlaid with anxiety about the
evening ahead. He watched as she followed the maître d’ down the aisle. She
wore a short, loose-fitting black jersey dress, high-necked and long-sleeved, cinched
at the waist with a broad black patent leather belt. Her black tights and
patent high-heeled shoes showed off her shapely legs to perfection. Her
dazzling smile and shining eyes eclipsed her simple diamond earrings and
necklace. As Chase switched off his mobile, he noticed with amusement several
diners staring openly at her luxurious breasts, which stirred invitingly inside
her dress as she walked.

The maître d’ held her chair as she sat opposite Chase, and
repeated his trick with the napkin. On cue, the white-jacketed waiter
materialised beside him.

“Can I get you something to drink, madam?” asked the waiter.

She smiled gratefully. “Large vodka and tonic, please.
Slimline, if you have it.”

“Ice and lemon?”

“Yes please.”

“Certainly, madam.” The waiter turned and bustled away.

She turned to face Chase.

“Sorry I’m late,” she smiled, with a sigh of relief. “Have
you been here long?”

“Just time for a beer,” he said, his grin as broad as hers.

“That’s good,” replied Anna Birkdale. 

Halshaw clambered out of the patrol car and looked around
her. An ambulance was parked next to the burnt-out van, and two uniformed
officers were cordoning off a perimeter around the van with yellow Crime Scene
tape. She looked beyond, at the gap-toothed lights of the pub. The Green Parrot
doesn’t look any better in darkness, she thought.

A slim young man, in jeans and leather jacket, lifted the
tape and swaggered towards her, looking her up and down appraisingly as he did
so. “DC Halshaw?” he asked, as he approached.

“That’s right.”

He held out a hand for her to shake. “DC Fenway,” he said.
“Rupert. Nice to meet you at last, love.” He smiled wolfishly. “I’ve heard all
about you. From the lads at the station, like.”

Halshaw didn’t take his hand, or return his smile. “What have
we got here?” she asked severely.

He shrugged. “Young lad. Found in the van. He’s been
severely beaten.” He looked at her expectantly.

Her heart sank. “Anyone we know?” she asked, in as
noncommittal a voice as possible.

Fenway grinned triumphantly. “Darren Hitchins,” he replied.
“Thought you and your guvnor would want to know asap.”

“Where is DI Chase, anyway?” she asked.

“Dunno,” he shrugged. “He’s not answering his phone.”

“OK. How is Darren, anyway?”

“Not great. Looks like he’s been here since last night.”

“Who found him?”

“Two young lads. They’re in the boozer with Anita. PC Gupta,
I mean.”

“Can I see him?”

Fenway nodded. “Best be quick. The paramedics have just
about finished.”

Halshaw strode across the car park, ducked under the tape,
and hurried over to the ambulance. A gurney stood in front of the rear doors,
on which lay a prone figure, its head swathed in bandages. A paramedic was
changing the bag on a drip that disappeared below the scarlet blanket.

“How is he?” asked Halshaw, gently.

The paramedic, a solid black woman with kindly eyes, looked
up. She glared at Halshaw, but her hostile look quickly dissolved when she
noticed Halshaw’s ID. “He’s in a pretty bad way, to be honest. Severe head
injuries, multiple fractures to the fingers of both hands, dehydration and
hypothermia. We can’t tell more until we get him to hospital.”

“Could it have been an accident?”

The paramedic shook her head sorrowfully. “Not a chance.”

“Can I talk to him?”

“He’s heavily sedated at the moment, I’m afraid.”

“Of course. What about when he comes round?”

“In about six weeks, if you’re very lucky.” She flashed a
bleak smile. “The other detective said his name was Darren somebody. Who is he,
anyway?”

“He’s called Darren Hitchins. He’s on bail at the moment.
And, oh God, I was chatting with him only the other day.” She leant against the
door of the ambulance as a wave of nausea broke over her.

The paramedic smiled sympathetically. “What’s he been
charged with? Drugs or something?”

“No. Burglary.”

“So why would anyone do this to him?”

“No idea. Absolutely no idea.”

“Ready?” asked the other paramedic, clambering down and
grasping one end of the gurney.

She positioned herself at the other end. “Ready, Jack,” she
answered. She caught Halshaw’s eye. “Good luck,” she smiled.

“Thanks,” replied Halshaw, grimly.

*

The first thing Halshaw noticed when she entered the pub was
a uniformed policewoman, sitting at a table with Jake and Ahmed. All three of
them had half-pint glasses of cola in front of them, and the boys both had bags
of crisps. The policewoman had drunk half hers: the boys’ drinks were
untouched.

She pulled up a stool and sat at the table. She smiled at
each boy in turn, then at the policewoman. “I’m DC Halshaw,” she said, softly.
“Any joy with these two?”

Anita Gupta shook her head. “They’ve been no trouble,” she
replied. “But they’ve said not a word since I got here half an hour ago.”

Halshaw noticed the landlord skulking behind the bar. “Let
me have a quick word with him first,” she said. “Then we can have a little chat.
OK?” She shot Ahmed a smile and tousled Jake’s hair, then strode quickly across
the room. The landlord caught sight of her and edged towards the door behind
the bar.

“Just a moment, please, sir,” she commanded.

The landlord stopped at the door and turned, looking
sheepish.

“I’m DC Halshaw,” she continued. “We met the other day,
remember?”

The landlord nodded.

“What can you tell me about what happened?”

“Nothing much, officer. The boys found him about an hour ago
and came running in here. I phoned for an ambulance. Then your lot turned up.”

“My colleague tells me the young man was assaulted last
night. Here, in your car park. Did you see anything?”

“No.”

“Hear anything?”

“No.”

Halshaw shook her head. “I find that hard to believe. He’s
severely injured, and it can’t have been quick.”

The landlord shrugged. “There’s often a bit of a ruck here
on a Saturday evening.”

She glared at him. “A bit of a ruck?” she retorted.

“Yeah. Often happens when the boys have had a few.”

“How do you mean, a ruck?”

“A fracas. A set-to. You know, a punch-up.”

Halshaw shook her head in disbelief. “I’m not talking about
a punch-up, sir. It looked to me as though Darren had been tortured.”

What little colour there was in the landlord’s face drained
away. “I don’t know anything about it. Honestly, officer. You have to believe
me.”

She shrugged. “You’ll have to give a statement later, sir.
You realise that, don’t you?”

He nodded.

“A written, sworn statement.”

He nodded again.

And in it you’ll say nothing more, I know, she added silently.
“One last thing,” she said.

The landlord looked relieved. “Go on.”

“Is Dmitri back from his holiday yet?”

The landlord hesitated. “Yes. He was in here last night for
a bit, as a matter of fact,” he replied eventually.

“Was he here at the same time as Darren Hitchins?”

The landlord glanced across at the barmaid, who had
reappeared behind the bar. He raised his eyebrows, and she shrugged
extravagantly.

“No idea, officer,” he replied. “Sorry.”

“Darren was in last night, though, wasn’t he?”

“Yeah,” replied the barmaid. “’E’s in ‘ere every Saturday
night. Regular, like.”

*

“Right then, you two,” said Halshaw brightly, pulling up her
stool again. “What can you tell me?”

Jake and Ahmed looked at each other, and then both started
to speak at once.

“One at a time,” she laughed.

“We was
playin
’ in the car
park...” began Jake.

“...football...” added Ahmed.

“...and
tryin
’ to get people to
let us mind their motors.”

“I kicked the ball through the van window...”

“...I went to get it...”

“...no, I went to get it first...”

“...no, I did!”

She smiled. “OK, so you both went to get the ball from the
van. Was that when you noticed the body?”

The boys both looked down. “Yeah,” said Ahmed.

“Did either of you touch him?”

“Nah!” said Jake. “We thought he was dead.”

“So you ran over here and called for an ambulance?”

“Yeah. Well, Michelle did.”

“Michelle who works here?”

“Yeah.”

Halshaw turned to Anita Gupta. “Can we be sure to get a
statement from her too, please?”

PC Gupta nodded.

Halshaw turned back to the boys. “Were you here on Saturday
night, minding cars?” she asked.

“Yeah. For a bit,” said Jake.

“But it got cold so we went home,” added Ahmed.

“What time did you go home?”

The boys looked at each other and shrugged. “Dunno,” said
Jake eventually.

“No worries,” smiled Halshaw. “Did you see any unfamiliar
cars?”

“Nah.”

“Did you see Dmitri?”

“Yeah!” both boys said together.

“Did you mind his car?”

“Nah. Nobody minds his car,” said Ahmed.

“Nobody needs to!” added Jake.

“Was he by himself?”

“Nah. He ’ad this big bloke
wiv
‘
im
.”

“What did he look like?”

“Big. No ‘air,” replied Ahmed.

“’E had one of them green army jackets,” said Jake.

“And a golf club,” added Ahmed.

“Do you know who he was?”

Both boys shook their heads.

“Ever seen him before?”

Ahmed shrugged. “Nah,” said Jake.

“What did he look like? Black? White?”

The boys looked at each other blankly.

“OK,” sighed Halshaw. “Which one of you did he look like?

“Like ‘
im
,” both boys replied in
unison, each pointing at the other.

Halshaw frowned at them.

“Like ‘
im
,” Ahmed repeated,
pointing at Jake.

“But brown, like ‘
im
,” Jake added.
“You know, like ‘
e’d
been on holiday or
sumfin
’.”

Halshaw nodded. “And was Dmitri still here when you went
home?”

“Nah.
E’d
just left.”

“With the big man?”

“Yeah.”

“In Dmitri’s car?”

“Yeah.”

“And did you two go to school on Friday, like you promised?”

“Course we did! It was fun!”

Halshaw smiled, hoping her scepticism didn’t show. “OK,” she
said. “That’s all for the moment. The nice police officer here will take you
home now.”

“Will you come and see us again?” asked Ahmed, looking up at
her with soulful eyes.

She smiled at him. “If you’d like me to.”

Ahmed nodded vigorously and picked up his bag of crisps.
Jake downed the last of his cola and followed suit.

The policewoman turned to her. “How on earth did you do
that?” she asked.

“Do what?”

“Get those boys to talk to you.”

Halshaw sighed, suddenly drained. “Oh, just some good
old-fashioned bribery and corruption.”

*

“Found anything?” asked Halshaw.

Fenway looked around. The ambulance had long since departed,
and the Scene of Crime team were packing their equipment away.

“Nothing much,” he replied, edging his hand-made Italian
shoe a little further away from the patch of dried vomit at his feet. “A couple
of old cans and condoms in the van, a few bits of rag. No usable fingerprints,
except those of the two lads.”

Halshaw frowned. “Can I ask you something, Rupert?”

Fenway seemed momentarily taken aback, before his
self-confidence reasserted himself. “Course you can, darling,” he said, with an
oleaginous smile. “Knock yourself out.”

Halshaw clenched her fists in her anorak pockets and slowly
released them. “Ever come across a guy called Dmitri
Antreou
?”
she asked, as casually as she could manage.

He grinned. “No. But I’d like to.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s one of those seriously dodgy characters who’s
always just out of reach. I’d love to get my hands on him.”

“What do you want him for?”

“How long have you got, darling?” he chuckled.

“Could he have done this, do you think?”

He shrugged. “Dunno. Maybe. He’s well hard. Or thinks he is.
Why do you want to know, anyway?”

“Just curious,” she said, casually.

Fenway grabbed her arm roughly. “I don’t buy that, darling,”
he growled, the laughter gone from his voice.

Halshaw shook off his hand. “OK,” she replied, hoping her
voice sounded steadier than she felt. “You know we had Darren Hitchins in the
other day?”

“Course I do. That was why I phoned you, wasn’t it?”

“Before Darren was released, I was talking to him. Just
chatting, you know. And he said something about Dmitri, in passing. That’s
all.”

“To do with those break-ins?”

She nodded.

Fenway’s wolfish smile returned. “Let’s do a deal, shall we?
If I find out anything about Dmitri and those break-ins I’ll tip you the wink.
If you find out anything about Dmitri and hot
ciggies
,
you let me know. Alright?”

Halshaw hesitated.

“Alright?” insisted Fenway, reaching for her arm again.

“Fine. Yeah. Whatever,” replied Halshaw, quickly.