Policeman's Progress Read online

  ‘Must make sure he stays down a long time – then he’ll be so bad if he ever comes up that no one will ever recognize him.’

  ‘What about his clobber – the coppers are clever these days,’ grunted Joe.

  ‘Take it all off and dump it separate.’

  ‘Them copper laboratories can tell anything these days,’ objected Joe – he had laboriously read an article in a recent Sunday newspaper on the subject and it had left a deep impression on his poor mind.

  Jackie was impatient. ‘Look, if we do it right, he ain’t never going to come up – or only in little pieces.’

  A sudden thought struck him. ‘Who’s to miss Geordie? I know he ain’t married.’

  Joe shook his jowls. ‘He comes from down Jarrow way, but I know his family didn’t bother with ’im. Since he was in the nick a few years back, his old man wouldn’t have anything to do with ’im.’

  ‘Has he got a regular woman – someone to miss him?’ He refused to think of his Laura in this context.

  ‘Don’t think so – right butterfly, was Geordie. Booze and one-night stands was all he cared about.’

  Jackie rubbed his hands. Things were looking pretty good. He was even beginning to feel that knocking off Armstrong was a stroke of genius, a master stroke of a big-time clubman. He forgot that a few minutes back, he was feeling sick with fear over the prospect of facing a homicide charge.

  ‘Right, we’ll strip him, shove his togs in a bag with a brick inside and dump them in’t river. We’ll take him down Shields way in the car and slide him in.’

  Joe nodded, sharing his master’s obvious satisfaction now. ‘Ay, well away from here, ’case he comes up too quick.’

  ‘He won’t flaming well come up quick by the time I’ve finished with him.’ Confidence was rapidly changing into bravado. ‘But best keep well clear of here, no sense in dirtying our own doorstep.’

  They finished their drinks, and set about stripping Geordie’s body.

  Then Joe picked up Armstrong’s narrow-lapelled jacket and dipped a hand into the pockets. He tossed some small change, keys and a wallet on to the desk. ‘What we going to do with these?’

  Jackie went through the wallet and transferred some twenty pound notes to his own pocket. ‘Reckon he owes me a lot more than that,’ he grunted. He pawed through the papers in the wallet to make sure there were no love letters from Laura lurking there, then slung it down on to the pile of clothing. ‘Dump it with the togs – don’t want nothing to be traced from him.’

  Joe helped himself to the loose change, then stuffed all the clothing into a plastic bag that he found in the cleaner’s cupboard. ‘I got nothin’ to weight it with,’ he mumbled.

  ‘Let’s get the body into the back of the Merc. Then you can find some junk on the quayside,’ commanded Stott.

  They wrapped the body in a curtain unhooked from over the toilet door and carried it upstairs, the weight being nothing to the two powerful men.

  ‘Leave him here inside the door – I’ll back the car up.’

  Jackie reversed the white Mercedes so that the boot was almost touching the end of the gangway. Then he came back, watched and listened for a moment, but nothing moved in the cold mist of the riverside. They hustled the bundle out and dropped it into the big boot.

  Jackie slammed the lid and waited in the car, while Joe trudged off along the quayside, looking in the gloom for a brick. A few yards away, he came across a heap of unidentifiable metal junk, amongst it a short length of angle-iron weighing several pounds. Joe slid it into the bag and tied the neck in a rough knot. Walking to the wharfside, he slid it over, hearing a satisfying splash as it hit the water.

  He hurried back to the car and it slithered off in a burst of acceleration towards Shields Road.

  As soon as the noise of its exhaust had faded, a tall figure stepped out of the gritty mist at the side of an old warehouse. On crepe-soled feet, he padded to the water’s edge just where Joe had thrown his bundle. Staring down into the black water, he saw with satisfaction that the ebbing tide had already exposed a little rim of filthy mud and stones immediately below him.

  He looked around the wharf to make sure that he could fix the spot exactly when the tide was right down, then walked off into the mist.

  Chapter Four

  Jackie Stott was a pretty tough nut, but even his stomach gave a nasty lurch when, first thing next morning, he was visited by a detective chief inspector.

  A moment later, he kicked himself for his stupidity, as he knew very well that Alec Bolam was concerned only with clubs and gaming, not murder.

  When Bolam called, Jackie was sitting at a table in the empty main room of the Rising Sun.

  Every Monday, there was a ritual meeting, when Thor Hansen went through the previous week’s business. As Hansen rattled off strings of figures, Jackie leaned back in his chair, a mini cigar clamped between his lips. His ears were deaf to business matters. His mind was on the body that now lay twenty feet down in the mud of the Tyne. He was not particularly uneasy about it – he reckoned that there was no reason why it shouldn’t stay down there for years. There was no one to go clamouring to the police about Geordie’s disappearance and it might be months before his family got curious as to his whereabouts. And as far as Jackie was concerned, Geordie Armstrong had left his job and gone to London to seek his fortune!

  While he was daydreaming against the background of Hansen’s financial droning, Bolam’s raincoated figure appeared silently inside the glass doors. He was almost at the table before Stott noticed him and his first words were tailor-made to give the club owner the maximum shock.

  ‘What you been doing to Geordie Armstrong, then, Jackie?’

  While Stott sat frozen to his seat with shock, the detective pulled out another chair and plumped down uninvited. Jackie stared at him in fascination, his mind momentarily seized up.

  The Danish manager stopped his recital and looked from one to the other with his usual impassive expression fixed in place.

  Jackie rapidly took a grip on himself.

  ‘What the hell d’yer mean?’

  In spite of his efforts, his voice sounded like an old hacksaw.

  Alec Bolam ran a hand over his jet black hair. ‘Our river lads tell me you had a bit of trouble on Saturday night. I hope we’re not going to have any strong-arm routines on any of your premises.’

  You bleeding liar, thought Jackie, you’d like nothing better. But he was relieved; this was only a check-up on that damn fool Joe.

  ‘Divvent worry yourself about that, Inspector. Our poor old Joe is getting weaker in the pan than ever. You know how he is!’

  Bolam allowed himself a weak, official smile.

  ‘I know that Sergeant Leadbitter heard you tell Joe that you wanted Armstrong duffed up a bit.’

  Stott rasped his chair back and planted his hands aggressively on the table. ‘He heard bloody wrong, then!’

  ‘The sergeant had a witness – his constable,’ retorted Bolam.

  ‘Then they’re both bloody liars.’

  ‘Come off it, Jackie! Ernie Leadbitter should have pulled Joe in on the strength of that. Breach of the peace, disorderly conduct on licensed premises … what had Geordie been up to?’

  Jackie had to think fast. Should he stick to a flat denial or spin some yarn to satisfy Bolam? Knowing the chief inspector, he hesitated to try the first.

  ‘All right, then, it was a storm in a flaming teacup.’ He put on a falsely contrite expression and tried to pass the thing off. ‘Joe is as jealous as hell of Geordie – divvent ask me why. He saw Armstrong slipping a coupla gaming tokens in his pocket and came and told me. Naturally I don’t want any sharp practices like that in my place,’ he went on righteously, ‘so I had it out with Geordie.’

  Bolam sat with a sardonic grin on his face, but he kept silent.

  ‘He got right nasty, so I told him to shove off and never come back – rather have a croupier short than a crooked one. He turned violent and took a poke at
me, so I told Joe to throw him out … the bit about a duffing-up was a bit hasty, I admit, but he had taken a swing at me!’

  He finished on a note of injured penitence which rang about as true as a ninepenny wineglass in Bolam’s ears.

  ‘You’re breaking my heart, Jackie,’ he said sarcastically, ‘What’s Geordie got to say about all this’

  Jackie had another nasty feeling in the pit of his stomach.

  ‘Dunno – better ask him, if you can find him. I gave him the push Sat’dy night, naturally. Haven’t seen him since – don’t want to, neither!’

  He lolled back with an air of finality.

  Alec Bolam opened the buttons of his gabardine, as if settling down for a long talk. ‘Mind if I look around?’ he said.

  ‘Help yoursel’,’ replied Jackie in a surly voice.

  Bolam got up and walked around. He was not looking for anything particular, only making his presence felt. He had another private reason, too. Standing in front of the band platform, he stared at the mute set of drums, his face as black as thunder. In a moment, he turned and the expression had gone.

  He moved towards the door, buttoning up his coat.

  ‘I’ll be having a word with Geordie, to get his version. Where’s he live?’

  Jackie cursed under his breath. This was the very thing he had wanted to avoid – blast Joe Blunt and his thickheaded stupidity.

  ‘No idea – never asked him,’ he said with a flippancy he didn’t feel.

  Bolam’s eyebrows went up. ‘No address? He’s your employee. Didn’t you pay National Health, PAYE – all the rest of it?’

  Jackie muttered some choice blasphemies under his breath as he turned to Thor Hansen.

  ‘I suppose you’ll have it somewhere?’

  Thor nodded and left his chair. ‘In the office – I’ll get it for you, Mr Bolam.’ He went to the small partitioned office next to Herbert Lumley’s cubicle.

  While the Dane was away, Alec asked Stott about him. ‘Got no secrets from him, eh? He seems the mainstay of this place. I hope none of your crooked ways rub off on him.’

  Jackie flushed. ‘Watch it, copper. I got convictions, I know, but I paid for them with plenty of bird, so now it’s quits. Hansen’s straight, so am I. So screw that sort of talk!’

  Bolam was unperturbed. ‘One of these days, you’re going to give one of your famous cheques for some money that’s got numbered notes … then we’ll have you inside so fast that you’ll leave your boots behind.’

  Bolam was bluffing and Stott knew it.

  ‘Tell that to your poor ol’ granny, mate! I never done such a thing in me life, but even if I had, you could never make a receiving charge stick. What gets passed across my gaming tables is up to the mugs – I mean, patrons. I got no control over it, hot money or not!’

  Hansen came back with a slip of paper, so stopping the development of an argument. Jackie snatched it and read the address.

  ‘Somewhere in the West End – unless he’s moved. They never stay long in one place, these lads.’

  Alec Bolam took the paper with a murmur of thanks.

  ‘Will you be off to see him now?’ asked Jackie with feigned casualness. ‘’Cos I reckon you’ll have a wasted journey. He’ll be in the Smoke by now. Plenty of jobs for a card-sharper there, especially as I’m going to blackball him in every club in the North.’

  Bolam shrugged.

  ‘I’ll send one of my boys to check on him sometime – there’s always the hope that they can persuade him to make a charge against you and Joe for assault!’

  With this parting shot, he strode out of the club.

  ‘Bastard!’ said Jackie with feeling, as soon as the doors had swung behind the detective.

  ‘What’s this about Geordie getting the sack?’ asked Thor, his blue eyes settling steadily on Stott’s perspiring face. ‘You told me on Saturday that you only felt like firing him.’

  Jackie cursed under his breath. The meshwork of lies was already starting to trip him up. The only course was to tell half the truth.

  ‘I was going to tell you – you won’t be seeing him around again. I gave him the push last night.’

  ‘What happened?’ Hansen had a shrewd idea already of the circumstances, but wanted to see how Stott would wriggle out of it.

  ‘Joe heard that Geordie and a layabout called Archie Lee had been running a swindle on us. I told you I suspected it, didn’t I?’ He ran a finger around the sweaty neckband of his collar. ‘Look, for Gawd’s sake keep this to yourself, or we’ll have the pollis down on us again like a ton of bricks … Joe and I ran Armstrong to earth in the Cross Inn last night. We twisted his arm a bit and I whispers in his ear that if he’s anywhere north of the Humber by midday today, I’ll set Joe on him properly. And that’s it – he’s taken a powder.’

  Thor looked inscrutably at his employer.

  ‘You didn’t rough him up?’

  Jackie looked offended.

  ‘In the middle of Grainger Street? Do me a favour!’

  Hansen decided not to pursue the matter any more, for his own reasons. He tried to change the subject back to the unfinished club business but, at this, Jackie suddenly stood up.

  ‘Skip the rest of the accounts for this week – I’m not in the mood. That damn copper always sours me.’

  He hurried down to the garage to get out the Mercedes. Driving to the Mississippi, he found his henchman vacuum cleaning the office floor.

  ‘None of that blood got on the carpet, thank Gawd,’ grunted Joe. ‘I’ve rubbed down all the furniture and doorknobs.’

  Jackie nodded impatiently, not bothering to tell him that he’d been wasting his time. ‘Here’s a couple of fivers – get down to London on the first train. I want you to send a telegram.’

  By lunchtime, Bolam had managed to make a sizeable dent in the contents of his ‘In’ tray. To stretch his legs, he walked down to Burgoyne’s in Newgate Street for a pint and a hot pie, then came back to continue ‘hammering the bumf’, as he called it.

  Five minutes after starting, he didn’t know whether to be glad or sorry for an interruption. The door opened without ceremony and a cheerful figure barged in.

  ‘He’s skipped all right, but his clothes are still there.’

  Tall and tough, like most Newcastle policemen, Jimmy Grainger seemed to half-fill the room.

  Alec grunted as he looked up at his detective sergeant. ‘Then Jackie must have put the fear of God into him, if he scarpered without his gear. He was a snappy dresser, like all that mob at Jackie Stott’s dive.’

  Again the bitterness welled up. Grainger recognized it and tactfully eased the subject away.

  ‘Want me to follow it up – ask the Met to trace him?’

  Alec shook his head. ‘Not worth the trouble. We’ve only got Stott’s word that he’s gone to London … and we know what his word is worth. Geordie’s probably lurking in some Merseyside cellar club by now.’

  Jimmy ran a hand through his wiry hair … he was another blond, who could have stepped straight off the streets of Oslo or Stockholm. ‘You want me to pack in this Armstrong thing, then. I got plenty else to do, I’ll tell you.’

  Bolam nodded at him over the next bit of ‘bumf’. Grainger was only on part-time assignment to him. As well as being involved in the gaming job, the sergeant dabbled in Aliens, Firearms, and Drugs.

  ‘Jack of all bloody trades, that’s me!’ he said cheerfully, hauling himself to his full six feet one.

  ‘And master of none! If you’re so busy, why are you loafing round here?’

  Grainger raised his hands in mock defence.

  ‘OK, OK, I’m going. Think I’ll spend the afternoon in the pictures, to make sure there’s no unregistered aliens in the audience.’

  As he reached the door, Alec swung round in his swivel chair. ‘What did Geordie’s landlord say about him leaving his belongings?’

  ‘Didn’t seem too surprised. Sounded as if he hoped he’d never come back for ’em.’

 
‘The owner hadn’t had word from him, then?’

  ‘No – it’s only a day since Jackie gave him the sack, mind. Apparently, Geordie had already given notice to quit, but he had a couple of weeks to work out his monthly rent.’

  ‘You didn’t go in to see his room?’

  ‘No, didn’t think you were that interested … want me to go back?’

  Alec shrugged. ‘No hurry … when you think of it, just to tie up the loose ends.’

  The detective sergeant nodded and left, leaving Bolam to reach out with a sigh for the next piece of paper.

  On the following evening, Jackie Stott sat behind a glass of whisky at one of the back tables in the big club room of the Rising Sun.

  For a Tuesday, the crowd was very good, over half the tables being filled by ten thirty. Laura was in the middle of her first number. The audience were quiet and attentive, which was just as well, as Jackie would personally have dealt with anyone who dared create a rumpus whilst his bird was singing.

  Their attentiveness was not so much because of her voice, but because of her figure. None of the men, except the few in a sentimentally drunken state, took much notice of the ballad she was whispering secretively into the hand-mike. But they all stared goggle-eyed at her legs. Laura wore a minidress of some glittery material which stopped abruptly at upper thigh level. With that outfit on, she could have been reciting Pythagoras’ Theorem set to music for all the crowd cared.

  Jackie sat contentedly, a glass in one hand and a thin cheroot in the other. Apart from the Geordie incident, and Laura’s coolness, things seemed to be going very well.

  That was a nasty moment when Bolam came snooping around, he thought, but he had outsmarted the coppers again. A warm glow of self-congratulation spread through his soul and he downed the rest of his drink in celebration.

  A finger crooked in the direction of the bar brought the barmaid at a gallop. She gave him another whisky and a big smile. Freda was a busty brunette, whom Jackie had in mind as a second string if anything happened to Laura – not that he wanted anything to happen to her, so long as she dropped this iceberg routine.