“Friday Fiction” Series: What’s in a Game? Chapter One…
[Note from Steve: A bit shorter than the other novellas, but still a British-style mystery. Enjoy.]
What’s in a Game?
Copyright, Steven M. Moore
Chapter One
DI Matthew Lawrence stood with DS Ellie Jones, looking into the loft. He called it that because he could imagine that some artist might have leased the space, although it did have some furniture: A large table was surrounded by seven chairs. Three bodies slumped in three of the chairs. The other four looked like they were pushed back in a hurry.
“Messy,” Lawrence said. Pathologist Littleton and SOCO Heath were trying to keep out of each other’s way as they circled the table. “Card game for seven. Think the other four killed the three victims and scarpered?”
“Kind of violent for a friendly card game,” Ellie said. “All the wagers are still in the center of the table. Four hands are face down as if those four had to run to the loo. We should talk to the building’s owner.”
“Steve’s talking to him. I want to first take a look around as soon as Doc and the SOCOs let us.”
Steve was DS Kirkland, Ellie’s counterpart on Lawrence’s team. She was the new member, but she already had one murder investigation under her belt with the Morpeth Police Department. She was hoping this one wouldn’t be so strange, although three bodies versus one didn’t bode well.
“I’ll sort the constables and organize a neighborhood canvass.”
Lawrence nodded, although he seemed preoccupied with other thoughts. She guessed a canvass would be a waste of time in the old neighborhood. She’d seen worse as a DC in London, but the residents in this one wouldn’t have much use for coppers either.
***
Lawrence stopped the pathologist on his way out. He knew that Andrew Littleton barely tolerated him and would take his time, no matter how much the DI would try to speed things up.
“Execution style, right?”
“You guess correctly, Inspector.” Doc flashed a wry smile. “And I’m guessing the card game was rudely interrupted by it considering the money and chips still on the table. But that’s all you have for now. And you’ll be waiting a bit longer for anything more from me. I usually don’t get three bodies at once.”
“Give me a drugs report when you get around to it, but what we have is all we need to get started. I think these yobs were gangsters. Hardly makes sense to call them victims.”
“Like ‘live by the sword, die by the sword’?”
“Something like that. I know who can identify them and confirm my theory.”
“Paul won’t like that you invade his patch.”
“That’s too bad. The stench is still in the air. They smoked weed here. That alone suggests the drugs business might be involved.”
“No ash trays, Matt.”
“Maybe from earlier then. Artificial courage for a killer.”
“Could be. Have a ball, Inspector.”
After Doc left and the SOCOs finished, Lawrence didn’t look around very much; there wasn’t much to see. He watched Doc’s aides carry out the body bags to the meat wagon and shook his head. My peaceful Morpeth isn’t immune to violence.
He went downstairs to talk to the landlord.
***
Mr. Patel, the building’s owner, didn’t look all that troubled. Lawrence thought he might be Hindu, not Sikh, because there was no headdress. Both were ubiquitous throughout the UK because of the historical connections with India, but to Lawrence they all chattered on in a special sing-song dialect that would suggest to most people they were nervous individuals. Patel wasn’t; he seemed resigned instead.
He approached the two; Steve had been having a chinwag with Patel, but Lawrence wanted to get his own read on the bloke.
“Mr. Patel doesn’t know too much about his renter, Guv,” Steve said.
“Kept himself to himself,” Patel said before Steve could continue, “as I was explaining to your sergeant. Didn’t see him except when rent was due. He’s lived here for only two months.”
“Did you collect any information about him, more than what’s on the lease? Employment and employers, references, previous leases, that sort of thing?”
The owner waved his hand to indicate the neighborhood. “This is my worst property because the neighborhood is a tip. Isn’t that obvious? I’ve had many renters skip out on me.”
“Do you report that?” Steve said.
Patel shrugged. “Nothing comes of it.” He smiled at Lawrence. “Maybe you plods will pay more attention to three murders?”
“We’ll do our best,” Lawrence said with a wink at Steve. “I don’t suppose you were around last night?”
“Like I told your sergeant, I was at my daughter’s birthday party.”
“Wish her my best. Could you provide us a copy of the lease? We need the full name. At the very least, we can charge your renter with hosting an illegal card game.”
“That’s illegal?” Patel said with a smile.
“We usually don’t crack down on that, but it’s using a private residence as a casino without a proper license.”
“Because there was cash on the table?”
“That’s the evidence, sir.”
Patel shook his head. “I don’t think Joel Peterson knew about that casino law. He certainly didn’t care when neighbors complained about the comings and goings for the games. Some might have called you plods.”
Lawrence only shrugged.
***
“Joel Peterson doesn’t have form,” Ellie said as she and Steve found chairs in front of Lawrence in his office. “In fact, he didn’t exist at all six months ago.”
“We think the name’s an alias,” Steve said.
“Most likely, considering. We need a photo. Anyone got one?” Lawrence looked from Steve to Ellie.
“He paid two months rent with a check,” Steve said, “so we have a bank account.” He crossed his fingers. “Bank’s CCTV?”
“Worth a try.”
“I’ll get on it.” Steve scraped the remaining biscuits off the plate and dropped them into his coat pocket. “Quick lunch, maybe.” He dashed out.
Lawrence shook his head. “Lad’s too intense. What else do you have for me?”
“Pathologist report: One kill shot for each victim. No drugs in their systems. We’ve also identified them: Troy Higgins, Richard Jackson aka Dicky, and Arthur Richardson aka Artie, three mobsters Williamson identified. They’re gang leaders known to him for their drugs businesses, according to him. He thinks there might be a gang war going on, a turf battle.”
“Paul’s probably wrong,” Lawrence said, glad he’d avoided the confrontation with the pugnacious narcotics officer.
“Guv?”
“Think about it, Ellie. Those clowns were playing poker together, all like friendly business associates. They’ve divided up the area and staked out their own patches long ago if Williamson knows about them. If there’s a turf war, it’s because there’s a new yob around who took the opportunity to eliminate all three so he can move in. That’s my theory. Let’s ask Paul if there are any new drugs being sold.”
***
Paul Williamson and Matthew Lawrence had some history. Lawrence thought Williamson played a bit loose with the rules too often—scrotes beat up, evidence lost, and so forth, but nothing so egregious to make Lawrence go to the super. And he just didn’t like the little weasel.
“Matt, Ellie. Have a seat. I’ve studied your case after Ellie posted it, Matt.”
Lawrence glanced at Ellie. Maybe she was too quick with getting reports into HOLMES?
“Turns out your case solved some of my problems. I’ve been trying to nick Higgins, Jackson, and Richardson for something for years.”
“Probably careful to have others do the dirty deeds,” Lawrence said, “and don’t crow too much. Someone will just take their places. And could it be just one?”
Williamson thought a moment. “I see how you’re leaning. Could be, I suppose: One yob taking over all three territories.”
“Wanted to ask you if any new stuff is on the streets not attributable to those three’s gangs. That would support my theory.”
“Not yet, but it might appear soon if you’re right. I’ll come at this case from my side then, but you’ll solve both yours and my problems when you figure out who killed that trio. I’m guessing the killer is one of the four who scarpered. They were probably just bodyguards, though.”
“Joel Peterson wasn’t. He rented that space and turned it into a casino. Private games.”
“Find him then, especially if the other three were just bodyguards.”
“Name’s an alias. We’re trying to find out who he really is.”
“I don’t recognize the name, alias or not. Maybe he’s the killer and just let the other fellers run.”
“Not a bad embellishment on my theory,” Lawrence said, “but why leave witnesses?”
“To take back the word to the gangs; to tell them a new drugs lord is in town and taking over. That suggests I should query the Newcastle lads some. In any case, what the hell do you want, Matt? Me to solve your damn case for you?”
Lawrence ignored the taunt. “Soon as we have a picture of Peterson, I’d like you to take a look at it. You might know who he is.”
“Will do.”
“And keep me posted on drugs sales. There’s a vacuum now. Some scrote will fill it.”
“And keep me posted on what you find too.”
***
“You don’t like DI Williamson very much, do you, Guv?” Ellie said as they climbed the stairs to CID.
He laughed. “That obvious, lass? Doesn’t like me either, so we’re like oil and water. I’m the pure water because I think he might be a dirty cop. Just between you and me, lass. There are a lot of drugs about and they’re killing people, so there’s a lot of drugs money around. I can’t prove anything, of course. But those three arses should have been in the gaol long ago. I don’t like his attitude and his other officers’. The NCA should clean it all up. We should chip away at it too. Damn NCA can’t do everything.”
“While we’re waiting for Steve, what should I be doing?”
“First, check on the canvass. I doubt the constables will have anything for us, even if they could get the neighbors talking. Second, hustle up all the information you can on the victims and the other three. If Williamson’s right, the three besides Peterson are bodyguards. We need to find them as well.”
“And you?”
Lawrence eyed her, as if he were wondering why he had to account for his time to her. He made a face. “I’m to call someone I know in the NCA. Have any dealings with them, lass?”
“The Yard viewed both MI5 and NCA as competition for the most part. As a lowly DC, I didn’t worry about politics, Guv.”
“Don’t need to worry about it here in Morpeth. Part of my job is to shield my people from the bureaucratic music my superiors dance to. That includes asking the NCA some indiscreet questions. They’re newer than MI5 but just as reluctant to share, believe me.”
“I see. Good luck, then, Guv. Think Williamson’s people keep HOLMES up to date.”
“Probably as much as we do. And that damn Williamson will make us ferret out the information. That’s another problem I have with the bloke.”
***
The trio of victims all had multiple bodyguards, and some had pictures in HOLMES as well as names. She printed out the information available, along with more about the victims, to have for future canvasses. Then she started calling the constables who were doing the current canvassing. There was information to be had there.
One elderly lady—a neighborhood resident for years and the local gossip monger—had watched Joel Peterson with a suspicious eye. “Lots of strange men going in and out of that place,” she’d told the constable. “Saw a young woman leave in a snit once too. Maybe a barney there.”
A lad who delivered takeaway from an Indian restaurant nearby said he’d seen Peterson with the same woman. He remembered the incident because Peterson had refused to tip him.
That was all they had for now. Ellie wondered who the woman was. She rang back DC Bob McFadden who’d interviewed the wrinklie.
“Try to convince her to work with our police artist. We need to talk to that woman.”
She had an itch to be out on the street too, like Steve and the constables. She was just starting to peruse media records when McFadden walked in with Eleanor Cartwright. Ellie stood up to greet the old lady.
“Nice dreadlocks, sergeant. I don’t have enough hair left to even think about a do like that. You the police artist?”
“No, I work with DC McFadden. He’ll show you upstairs where the artist is found. Have a seat, though. I’d like to ask a few questions, if I may.”
“Only if you’re offering tea. I come in for the tea and cakes, you know. Bob here promised them.”
McFadden smiled at Ellie, who couldn’t figure out if he’d charmed her or she’d charmed him.
“I’ll see to the tea,” he said.
“I’m guessing you’ve been here before?” Ellie began.
“Lots. Doing my civic duty to eliminate crime in my neighborhood. Doesn’t seem to get any better. ‘Course it’s gone downhill. Lots of unsavory types hanging around now. I’ve lived there for donkey’s years. ‘Twas a nice place…once.”
“Sorry to hear it’s become rundown. I’m guessing you watch out for the unsavory types.”
“Not hard to guess that, even for a Jamaican. Lovely little accent. Lost my Mancunian one years ago. I liked Harry.”
“Harry?”
“Belafonte. The sexiest man alive, in his prime.”
“Did you consider Mr. Peterson unsavory?”
“More just suspicious. Some of his visitors looked like thugs, though. And that woman would glare at me like I was dirt.”
“Tell me about her. Not a description, which I hope you’ll give to our artist. I’m interested in their activities.”
“Beyond shagging that witch, you mean?” Ellie nodded. “Seemed to have a lot of people show up all the time. Some just stopped by and left motorcars running and music booming. Others came and stayed awhile. Either he was more popular than Adele, or he was selling drugs. That’s my take on it.”
“Or playing cards?”
“I suppose. I assume some of the ones who stayed over might have been playing. That little swami told me that.”
“Mr. Patel?”
“I rent from him too. Nice guy for the most part, but he always smells like lamb vindaloo. Spicy odor. I like tikka masala better.”
Ellie didn’t get much more from Eleanor. After tea and biscuits, Bob took her up to chat with the artist. Ellie returned to her media searches but was interrupted by Steve’s return.
***
“I gave the video copies to the techies,” Steve said. “They’ll get some stills for us.”
When the techs were done, she and Steve decided to send the stills to everyone’s mobiles, although she printed enough to pin to their crime board. Bob would also show a copy to the old woman along with the artist’s rendition of Peterson’s ex-girlfriend.
The rendition turned out to be enough for the facial recognition software. She had form for resisting arrest in Newcastle during a protest against masking requirements during the pandemic unrest. Ellie and Steve decided to drive to Newcastle to Dorothy Swan’s last known address. The woman lived in a flat above a liquor store; it turned out that she actually owned the store.
“She went to pick up a case of wine,” her clerk, an acne-scarred youth, said. “She won’t be gone long. You can wait in her office.”
Ellie eyed the rows of bottles as they followed the clerk. “Nice assortment,” she said.
“Dotty tries to satisfy all types of clients. She’s a bit high-end for me, though.”
Steve smiled at Ellie. She knew what he was thinking: Is this lad old enough to drink? Eighteen was the legal age, although adults could buy liquor for those younger in restaurants or pubs. The lad might be sixteen. She wasn’t sure leaving him in charge of a liquor store was exactly legal either, but young adults needed jobs just like everyone else.
“Hello,” Dotty said when she entered the office. “Jason warned me you’d be here. He’s all I can afford, by the way. He’s a nephew who needed a job.”
“I wouldn’t call it a warning,” Steve said, shaking her proffered hand after Ellie. Both put their warrant cards away to get down to business.
“You would if you hated plods as much as I do. Not you two, specifically, of course. Hopefully you’re a bit better than Newcastle Police.” She took a seat behind her desk and motioned for them to sit again. “Now, what am I supposed to have done?”
“Do you know Joel Peterson?”
“Knew. Past tense! I broke up with the lout. He liked the rough shag, he did. A little too rough. And he had the roving eye, if you know what I mean, as well as running around with some low-lives, some looking like they might kill their own mothers. It’s enough to make a girl swear off men. No offense, DS Kirkland.”
“None taken,” Steve said.
“So…did you know who any of these low-lives were?” Ellie said.
“Not a clue, Luv. If they were with him, he’d get rid of them quickly enough. I guess if I saw them again, I’d recognize them. In particular, the ones with faces that’d make good Hallowed Eve masks.”
***
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