Once upon a Spook (The Spooks series Book 1) Page 10

  “She’s one stubborn bitch,” he told himself in confidence. “Anybody else but her.”

  The following morning after breakfast, Joan found time to surprise even herself. It had become possible that acting on Eastern’s slant with Dowling’s new residency in mind had challenged her position.

  “I’ve been thinking Mike…”

  “Go on, I’m listening.”

  “It might be a good idea for me to get away for a few days, make a complete break of things, you know?”

  “You’ve obviously given it some thought Joan, and yeah, you’ve certainly got my blessing on that.” He asserted. “Anywhere special in mind?”

  “Yes I have actually, I’m thinking along the lines of paying my mother and step father a visit. They live at Framfield. It’s very rural and the solitude will give me a chance to get my head together.” Eastern’s face clouded over with curiousity before replying.

  “Would I be right in thinking that…” faltering in anticipation, he let her continue where she’d left off.

  “If this is anything to do with my step father, then the answer to your would be question is a resounding yes! When I think back, we’ve never really hit it off. In fact, I’ve never sat down and discussed my feelings with him on the matter. Besides which, he retired some years ago.”

  “Uhm, ever since I’ve known you, I could sense that you had a problem in that direction.” Pausing suddenly, he voluntarily allowed his thoughts to go off on a tangent. “Incidentally, something had just occurred to me, there’s no reason why I shouldn’t pay Dowling’s flat in the Dials another visit. Assuming of course it hasn’t been let yet. I still get the feeling that I might have missed something. The fact that Terry Bryant is dead now means that I need to furnish some evidence to support my claim that he and Dowling were more than just good friends. The all important initials that came to light if you remember, aren’t substantial enough on their own to make a case. I need to step up a gear.”

  An hour later, a solemn looking Eastern watched Joan drive off, and dallied until she had exited the ‘village’ before making a move himself. In no time at all, he found himself conversing with the slow witted caretaker. The result of which could possibly ensure that his visit might be a fruitful one.

  Apart from the fact that the flat itself had been legally vacated, and was due for re letting in 48 hours gave him carte blanche to search the premises at will. An additional bonus being that any original rubbish set aside for disposal still remained in situ. Eastern, it has to be said, was now on a high as he entered the flat. He was greeted by a sea of mounting rubbish, lying on a carpet of discarded mail and dated newspapers, and what looked like, at first glance, a plastic bag containing various personal effects.

  One man’s mess is another man’s treasure, it seems. Or so Eastern would tell you. Almost immediately, he made the bag his own. “This is the closest I’m ever likely to get to ‘Aladdin’s Cave’. Dowling might just as well have left me a first edition of ‘This is your life’. Up ending the bag, he allowed the contents to spill out on to the floor. Like a rat on heat, he delved amongst the rubbish, eyes darting everywhere. Stopping off briefly he queried a half hidden book of spent cheque stubs. “Geronimo!” he exclaimed and proceeded to examine every counterfoil in detail.

  As hunches come and go, he now found himself on a higher buzz than an aggravated wasps nest. By means of deduction, it became apparent that there were three consecutive amounts of money spread over a 5-6 weekly period of time, reaching back some two months previous, and all listed toward one beneficiary, with the initials TB. Containing his ‘find’ became something else. “Gotcha!” he stormed, you’re not the clever bastard that you thought you were Mr Dowling. You just made one hell of a clumsy mistake, and that is going to cost you dearly!”

  His idea being, that cross checking the counterfoils against the original transactions would only be a formality only increased his partial conviction. The smug and contented face of a winner, said it all. “Johnnie Curtis will think it’s his bleedin’ birthday, once I’ve offloaded this little baby onto him.” Any attempt to retrieve anything of any importance from then on, became superficial. Five minutes later and he’d seen enough. Handing the key back to the caretaker on leaving, Eastern reminded him to get back in touch, should his alleged ‘brooms’ show any sign of wearing out.

  Before pulling away, he notified DS Curtis and arranged to meet in the car park at the Division in an hour’s time. “It’ll give me time for a cup of tea,” he mused. The smile on his face later, looked like remaining permanent, prior to handing the evidence over. And Curtis was quick to show his appreciation.

  “Good shot Mike…I guess this wipes our slate clean wouldn’t you say? Forensic and myself are going to have a field day checking this exhibit out.”

  “Just call it a dress rehearsal mate, I’m on a roll at present.” He quipped. “But do keep me up to speed…yeah?” Some time later, while relaxing in the confines of a cool bath, his nearby mobile kicked off. “Good I’m relieved that you got there all in one piece Joan…me? I’m soaking for want of a word…yeah…it’s good news, I’ll explain later…be in touch…bye.”

  For a second he appeared to be transient and locked in thought. “I think I’ll give that pub around the corner a once over tonight. Yeah…I’ll do that.” He then settled back amidst a mountain of foam, and lost himself whilst wearing a classic look of contentment.

  CHAPTER X…Your drink’s on me!

  It’s often said that there are waterholes…’spit and sawdust’, and somewhere in this congested spirit world there are pubs. And Mike Eastern wasn’t about to be disappointed in knowing that cosmopolitan Brighton had nothing to prove in that direction. Earlier on that evening he had come to the conclusion that a blend of Scotch, combined with ‘Joe Public’ as a chaser would amount to a good call in the Mermaid, a few minutes walk away from the square in Western Road. “It would give me the impetus I need to create a leveller.” He told himself.

  Nudging the door open to the side entrance, he adjusted his vision before making his way across the bar. Propping himself up on a stool he contented himself by gazing around the periphery of the bar itself. For the time of night he noted that business was relatively quiet. His observation then came under fire due to a young, rather ugly and pretentious looking barmaid who arrived on the scene ready to take his order, although, two drinks later, he would have been prepared to swear that she came across as Miss World. Then the illusion folded as the chewing gum that was playing catch up with her teeth, decided to surrender by landing on the bar top as she reached out for an empty glass.

  At least his Scotch wasn’t getting away, as it freely drained off his palate. Three doubles later though his vision appeared to be less comfortable. Maybe he wasn’t the drinker he thought he was. He swiftly overruled that notion. “A 20 plus year love affair with the devil’s brew must count for something,” he concurred. He then realised that his vision had been invaded by the extreme décor, confronting him exuding out of four walls, and in his face, consistent with a seventies retro throwback of colour, depicting psychedelic mania.

  “Whatever happened to Flock wallpaper?” was one conclusion he toyed with. It was just after 10pm and the bar at this stage was beginning to come alive. The in-house buzz deriving from revellers, party goers and regulars alike, now threatened to outdo the explicit beat of disco music, that formed the back drop to an electric atmosphere. Eastern was on the point of draining his glass having decided that the toilet would be a better option to escape the hubbub for five minutes. His lips were now on short time as his Scotch never made it that far. This was due to the pressure from an alien force brushing against his body and, in doing so, lifting his elbow off the Richter scale and spilling what Scotch remained in his glass on to the floor in the process. To say that he was somewhat put out as opposed to being highly needled would be the equivalent of ‘Excuse me’ leading up to ‘Which door would you prefer to be thrown out of?” There
and then he decided that diplomacy would be the best call.

  The unknown perpetrator instantly became the first to acknowledge the altercation as Eastern offloaded his redundant glass and confronted him.

  “I’m sorry about that…I had nowhere to go…so damn crowded, allow me to get you another drink.” There was nothing tried and tested that could have prepared Eastern for what was about to follow as the two finally came face to face. Even the dismal lighting as an excuse wouldn’t have swayed his judgement. In the time that it takes to express “I told you so” recognition had already sunk in. Momentarily, Eastern felt stifled, and powerless to react for a thousand reasons. This was no run of the mill punter he was dealing with. He was adamant that he was eye to eye and dealing with his own depraved nemesis, namely Andy Dowling.

  The whole scenario had only taken seconds, although in real terms a couple of months in coming to fruition as a wheel of destiny now finally turned full circle. It might have been the thought of a possible ‘Oscar’ in the offing, or maybe he was just in shock but Eastern offered up his now defunct glass and mumbled, “That’ll cost you a large Scotch I’m afraid.”

  Devoid of any emotion, Dowling produced a £5 note and handed it over saying “be my guest.” Seconds later, he became history as a crowd of seasoned piss artists swallowed him up. So! To what depths would you go to when coming to terms with a situation like that?

  In hindsight, Eastern could have walked away by accepting the loss of his Scotch and learnt nothing. Only here was a man who thinks on his feet in spite of the altercation. Without any hesitation he proceeded to pick the glass up from off the bar using a hanky and secured it in his pocket, alongside the £5 note. The look on his face at that point was priceless, as he muttered under his breath “Thanks for the drink you arsehole, and better still the DNA that goes with it.” Turning on his heel he swiftly left the pub and headed steadfastly back towards the square.

  Shortly after arriving back at Joan’s apartment, he envisaged the thought that a long night lay in the offing. For the third time in less than five minutes he checked his watch. He was still on a high, alone and restless. He was also aware that what the night had to offer in terms of the Brighton scene had only just begun to kick in. It became clear that the effects surfacing from the Mermaid experience were still plainly visible. “Uhm…10.45pm” he grunted. But then he already knew that anyway. At least he had the genesis of a system in mind, by deciding to facilitate his emotions, and purge his mobile instead. Right now, it looked more tempting than his token nightcap. At the last moment, he decided to stall that idea as an irritant image of DS Curtis burst his bubble. “I guess it would be bad timing, even for Johnnie. Tomorrow’s another day. It’s not as if Dowling is going anywhere.”

  Early the next morning Eastern could be found submerged in a deep conversation with Joan, relating his inconceivable brush with Dowling. “As I say Joan, you couldn’t have written the script. Surreal doesn’t come into it, I got that close, I felt that I was underneath the guy’s skin.”

  “Good God! The very thought makes me shudder. It’s just as well that I opted for a break when I did.” She replied thankfully. “The notion that I could have been present at the time…” She left off to regain her composure, and continued, although she was clearly shaken, “I’d rather we didn’t talk about it, if you don’t mind?” Eastern readily acknowledged her demand and attempted to reassure her.

  “In a profitable way, I feel that the altercation was meant to be, stupid as that may seem. When you bear in mind what I managed to walk away with.”

  Prior to terminating their conversation, Joan mentioned the fact that her step father without prompting had let it be known that he had been making an in depth enquiry himself into the case. “Which I thought was rather strange at the time,” she added.

  48 hours after his altercation, the reaction from DS Curtis after Eastern had managed to pin him down, gained the type of response he’d hoped for. “Just to let you know Mike that the evidence you produced proved to be a windfall. Forensics have managed to resurrect a print from off the cheque stubs. Also, the glass itself had more going for it than a passport.” Eastern then capped their conversation off with his own version of events by declaring, “A good result, onwards and upwards.”

  CHAPTER XI…A close encounter

  In the event his enthusiasm towards the case although gathering momentum, climaxed suddenly, alluding from the side effects of a double edged sequel. “A smack in the mouth would have been a better result.” Eastern confirmed later. Like the majority of the tabloids, the Clarion hadn’t missed a full stop.

  ‘SUPERGRASS’ MURDER SUSPECT IN U TURN

  A late statement issued by the police has revealed that the security guard suspect held in the ongoing bung case has now accepted a clemency deal in lieu of new information. This information linked DCI Conway as part of a conspiracy to silence the crown prosecution witness, the whisteblower, aka DC Terry Bryant, who was recently found dead while living in a ‘safe house’ monitored 24/7 by the police. Conway, who is already on remand, while awaiting trial on further conspiracy charges, is the son of Sir Daniel Conway, the present assistant Police Constable. When approached for a statement by the press, the latter declined the offer for legal reasons. It has also been confirmed by a spokesperson for the IPCC that the fresh evidence could bring about a further arrest per se.

  Looking decidedly grim, Eastern helped himself to another coffee, and glanced over the report once again, to satisfy himself that he hadn’t missed anything. In return, his own slant on the case wasn’t about to become wanting, and even less predictable as most others. “One lousy rotten apple, that’s all it takes, and bingo! All of a sudden you’ve inherited a fucking cartload.” Shaking his head in frustration just came naturally to him. “Shit! You’ve got a lot to answer for Mr flaming Conway, your in it so deep you’ll wind up doing your time in a bleedin’ well.”

  Fifteen minutes later found him chilled out on the park bench adjacent to Dowling’s flat. Fully engrossed with reading the ‘Lambeth Serial Killer’ he failed to spot a distinctive figure walking across the grass toward him. In no time at all, the man had now drawn abreast of him. Caught between being one page away from a fictional murder, and reality, the inviting question on offer became briefly lost in translation.

  “Excuse me, haven’t we met before somewhere?” The stranger enquired. Eastern didn’t need the advantage of a retake to exact the sudden confrontation he now found himself facing. The earthy tone of the voice alone was drilling a hold inside of his head as recognition allowed a dormant instinct to kick in. Casually, and in a controlled manner, he slowly lowered the paper down before conversing.

  “Sorry, you were saying?” In one brief split second, his intuition had proved to be on course. For the second time in 48 hours, he now found himself at odds, facing the haunting figure of Andy Dowling, no less.

  “The Mermaid, wasn’t it? The other night as I recall, I unfortunately spilt your drink. Once again you have my apology, I presume that you live in the village as well?” He went on. Eastern was propelled into thinking on his feet, he couldn’t afford to come across as hostile.

  “Yeah, you’re right on the first count, but don’t lose any sleep on it. But no, I happen to be here on holiday...which reminds me...” He broke off to check his watch. “God, is that the time? I’m sorry, I need to be somewhere else. Bye now.” Dowling appeared to linger as Eastern hurriedly left, unaware that he was deliberately heading in the opposite direction to the flat. It was a necessary decision and well worth the walk around the block just to clear his head. He even managed a wry smile at one point, when considering the degree of familiarity that he had built up between himself and Dowling.

  “It’s almost got to the stage now whether or not I suggest to him your place or mine?” He would jokingly tell Joan, over the phone that night. During their conversation Joan mentioned the fact that she would be leaving Framfield tomorrow morning arriving back
at the flat around midday. A week had now lapsed since their ill timed confrontation in which time, in spite of stringent surveillance, Dowling appeared to have gone to ground, yet still he persisted. The last couple of hours had dragged on, and he was prepared to call it a day. He’d read the newspaper so many times the print had started to run. Just then his attention was averted to a taxi which had pulled up outside Dowling’s flat. The driver alighted and disappeared inside the building. “He’s obviously dealing with a call.” Eastern remarked out of interest. Having had the best of the daylight, he decide to call it a day and head back to his apartment. The one consolation being “at least I’m assured that Joan will be back tomorrow.” Moments later, any relief he’d procured became short lived by the sound of his mobile kicking in. Immediately, a look of consternation crossed his face as he glanced at the screen in recognition. “Johnnie! Hi mate, what’s occurring you must be working on overtime?” The strained voice of Curtis’s reply prepared Eastern for what was about to follow.

  “I realise it’s a bit late in the day Mike, but I must warn you that it’s not good news I’m afraid. In a word, the IPCC in their wisdom have thrown out the Dowling case.”

  “On what grounds, for God’s sake?” Eastern spluttered.

  “Would you believe it, a lack of insufficient evidence?”

  “Hell! That’s knocked the shit out of me mate, I honestly envisaged the submission to be a walk in the bleedin’ park.”

  “You and me both Mike. All the groundwork was in place, we had a match on the prints, and the bank statements tallied with the deposits that Dowling had made over to Bryant.”

  “Is it me, or have I missed something? It’s just not adding up.” Eastern fired back. It was clear that he was getting heated, leaving Curtis to opt for a compromise.

  “Basically, they’re saying that the Crown has to prove that the monies that had been exchanged had been procured for illegal reasons. And…”