“Friday Fiction” Series: What’s in a Game? Chapter Two…
[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 Two
Ellie pulled photos of Peterson, the three victims, and ones of about a dozen bodyguards out of her large purse. Dotty pointed at the first.
“That’s Joel, of course.” She then pointed at another, one of the victims. “Saw that one once. He was with these two.” She’s pointed to two of the known bodyguards. “I don’t recognize anyone else. Sorry.”
“Hear any names?” Steve said.
“The first feller, the ugly bastard, was called Artie. Joel was more respectful towards him than the other two. Does that help?”
“Maybe,” Ellie said. “When did you see those three?”
Dotty thought a moment. “I guess Joel had a meeting with them. He called them business associates. That was obviously before I broke up with Joel, maybe two or three weeks ago? The whole experience annoyed me because Joel had asked me to meet him at his place at that time.”
“Did you know he entertained some of these blokes? Set up poker nights and played with them from time to time, to be precise.”
She grimaced. “No. I would have kicked his arse out earlier if I’d known that. My old man was a drunk and had a gambling addiction. Horses mostly. He’d lose a week’s wages and then come home and beat the crap out of my mum. I can’t stand that type of behavior.”
“Do you have any idea where Joel is now?” Steve said.
“Probably shagging some other gullible woman if he’s not at home! He’s a good-looking bloke as you can see in your photo, so women are attracted to him. Biggest error in my life, I dare say.”
“Did you know that Joel Peterson is an alias?” Ellie said.
Dotty blanched. “I really am a damn fool! What’s his real name?”
“I wish we knew. We’ll ask him when we catch him. Anywhere you can think he might be hiding?”
“He was always a bit circumspect, and now I know why. I don’t want to know why you want him, though. And he’d better not be hiding in my summer cottage either. We want there once. I inherited it from my father. Only good thing he did after driving my mum to her grave. Surprised the hell out of me. I think he purchased it for his mistresses. I’m thinking about selling it because it’s mostly a tax drain.”
“Could we have the address?”
Dotty wrote something on a notepad, ripped off the sheet, and handed it to Ellie. She studied it.
“It’s near Penrith. Quite a little journey.”
Ellie nodded. She’d put it in her report, thinking it might be worth visiting sometime as the case progressed…or stalled.
***
Back in the unmarked squad car, Ellie said to Steve, “What did you think about that?”
“Brutally honest, I dare say. She mightn’t like coppers, but she despises Joel Peterson. Probably more so now. Can’t say I blame her.”
“That’s my take as well. At least we learned we’ll be looking for Harry Stone and Ozzie Holly.”
“Think they were two of the three bodyguards present?”
“No. I don’t know which one Artie had there, but the other two were probably bodyguards of the other victims. But we can look for Harry and Ozzie to start. Let’s go back to the station and try to locate one of them, now that we have some names.”
“We might find them here in Newcastle,” Steve said. “I have a friend in CID here, DS Barry Waters. We can borrow his computer. Same databases, including HOLMES.”
“Lawrence mightn’t like us to do that,” Ellie said. She was new enough to want to avoid her DI’s disapproval.
“Um. He’d probably do the same and approve of our initiative.”
“Okay. Give me directions.” She knew there were three Newcastle police stations, and she didn’t know the way to any of them. Meeting with Steve’s friend would at least show her where one was for future reference.
***
Barry was a big black block as large as Steve; his parents came from Nigeria, and the two giants talked sports for five minutes.
“Excuse me, gentlemen, but we’re on a mission,” she reminded them.
“Um, yes, so we are,” Steve said, a bit embarrassed. “Barry and I usually have a chinwag like this over a few pints.”
Barry eyed Ellie. “Too much London in the lass, Steve.” He now smiled at her. “In the Yard, I used to be as serious as you are, Ellie. We’re a bit more laid back here in Northumbria. But okay, what’s the gig?”
She explained their mission.
“Um, yes, we can use my computer to see if at least one of those two yobs has a local address. Drugs are sold all over the northeast now, but the VIPs like to congregate here in Newcastle.”
“These bodyguards aren’t exactly VIPs,” Ellie said.
“They’re right up there in rank, Luv, because they have other tasks to perform. The chief says to kill someone, for example, and the bodyguard, really the big man’s aide, arranges it. They’re not the grunts in the drugs armies; they’re the colonels obeying the generals’ orders.”
“You’re just full of metaphors, aren’t you?”
“I do my best.”
After another fifteen minutes, they had an address for Harry Stone, a house on the way back to Morpeth. They stopped there.
***
“How do you want to play this?” Ellie said to Steve, still rankled by all the sports talk.
“Ring the doorbell and show our warrant cards?”
“And maybe get shot? You wouldn’t last long in London.”
“Okay, big city copper. How do you want to play it?”
“‘Twas I asking you. Barry sent us here, after wasting our time discussing football and rugby.”
He laughed, but she was now peering through a dirty window.
“I don’t think we have to worry about how to proceed,” she said. “There are three bodies on the floor.”
He looked in over her shoulder. “Three plus three makes six!”
“My, my, the sports fan just graduated from nursery school.” She went to another window nearer the door, broke a pane, and reached in to open the door. She turned and smiled at Steve. “In London, we call that probable cause. Now we can debate whom to call, Morpeth or Newcastle?”
“It’s Morpeth’s case, our case.” He hesitated at the open door. “Think they’re the three bodyguards?”
“You were the one who said three plus three. Call DI Lawrence. Whether this is good or bad for our case, he’ll want to know.”
***
“I’m not sure this is progress,” Lawrence said.
The three were standing outside the open door watching Doc and SOCOs doing their dance again.
“At least we know Joel Peterson, or whoever he is,” Ellie said, “is our prime suspect now. This looks like a hit to eliminate witnesses.”
“Maybe,” Steve said. “But why didn’t these three just shoot Peterson when he shot their bosses?”
“Good question, lad,” Lawrence said, “and I’ll offer up two possible answers: One, these three were in it and killed after the fact; or two, none of the four were, and someone was hiding somewhere and popped the three mob bosses, and Peterson and these three did a runner before the killer could shoot them. I’m guessing all four not left in that loft knew how to take care of themselves, including Peterson, unless he’s also dead somewhere else. Ah, here’s Max.”
The SOCOs’ leader told them the three had been hiding out in the abandoned house. The dirty dishes and cups were in multiples of three and the takeaway bags in the bins had receipts for dinners in multiples of three as well.
“I’ll confirm the number,” Max said, “by determining that only their DNA and prints are here.”
“Which could mean the killer, here with them or not, was careful about leaving traces,” Ellie said. “Are we guessing that killer is Peterson?”
“That’s you blokes’ problem,” the SOCO said. He winked at her. “Nice job on that window, Ellie.”
“What did he mean by that?” Lawrence said as Max headed for the SOCOs’ van.
“I have no idea,” Steve said.
***
Ellie stayed at the house to organize another canvass, this time of the house’s neighborhood, Steve went to talk to Peterson’s ex-girlfriend again, and Lawrence returned to the office to mull over all that they had learned. DCI Hubbard visited him.
“Six bodies now,” the DCI said. “Looks like this mysterious Peterson is your man, Matt.”
“No, Richard, the scrote pulling his puppet strings is our man. There;’s something I’m missing.”
“I’d check with Paul again.”
Lawrence frowned. “He’s supposed to call me if new junk hits the mean streets.”
Hubbard wagged a finger. “Don’t trust Paul. He tends to wait for concrete evidence. A few addicts yammering about better stuff won’t make him call you. Go see him.”
“Okay. Worth a try, I guess. If we can’t get Peterson, maybe we can get the puppet master.”
“Who might grass on Peterson to broker a deal.”
“I don’t like deals.”
“They can be useful.”
“Not to the victims’ relatives.”
After Hubbard left, Lawrence went downstairs. Williamson wasn’t in, but a sergeant was.
“Some new stuff out there,” DS Carlson said. “Some dead addicts too. Stuff’s a bit purer, so some OD. That usually means a new drugs czar is around. They sell purer stuff to get customers, and then they cut the junk more to make more profits. Real entrepreneurs, Guv.”
“No idea who the new czar is?”
“We’re working on it. Looks like your theory was correct. Paul told me about it.”
“No joy in that. Doesn’t help my case. Thanks, Ralph.”
***
Lawrence returned to his office and started to go through the reports for the case. He was trying to remember something, the niggling sensation that he had missed a clue. He was about to head for his favorite pub for a pint when he snapped his fingers. He went back to Ellie and Steve’s report about the interview with Peterson’s ex-girlfriend.
Peterson had made one trip to Dotty’s summer cottage near Penrith. What had made Ellie note something so insignificant? Good woman! Right there was her note: Visit cottage later. No one had.
He called Ellie first and then Steve, telling them to meet him at the pub.
“We’re here for a brain session?” Steve said. He’d arrived first.
“I’ll get your salad. We’ll wait for Ellie, but I’ll order something for her too. You’ll be driving, lad.”
“Where are we going?”
“Later,” Lawrence said, already moving to place an order for two bacon rolls and Steve’s rabbit food. He also ordered half-lagers for Ellie and himself and a lemonade for Steve.
After she arrived, she toyed with her bacon roll and chips and watched the two men, Lawrence eating more than he should. Her appetite wasn’t yet back to normal after the scene with the three bodyguards, and it was a bit early for her.
In a half hour, they were heading west. Steve had tried to shoot down Lawrence’s hunch; Ellie’d liked it. The DI thought Peterson might be at Dotty’s summer cottage.
The cottage sat all alone at the end of a lane. While they knew some waterway was nearby from the breeze blowing from east to west, there wasn’t much charm to the surroundings. The cottages they’d passed looked as rundown as Dotty’s, although hers might be in better shape inside. All of them were on just one side of the lane because a berm, perhaps put there to protect the cottages from flooding, stood tall on the eastern side.
“A bit spooky around here,” Lawrence said, “especially in the twilight with the fog lifting.”
Steve made a U-turn and parked across from another cottage that was dark. They walked back along the lane. Lawrence led the way to the top of the berm to look down on Dotty’s cottage. The fog blanketed the roof, but they could see lights inside.
“Two, no, three inside,” Lawrence said before handing the binoculars to Steve. Both sergeants confirmed the count.
“One’s Peterson,” Ellie said. “I have no idea who the other two are.”
“I’d guess they’re the new drugs czar and his bodyguard. I’d worry more about the latter and Peterson. That old scrote looks a bit feeble.”
“I couldn’t tell if any of them have guns,” Steve said. “Should we call for a SCO19?”
“We’d have to appeal to the locals. No telling if they’d pay attention to us without one of our VIPs contacting one of theirs. And, considering the probable wait, I don’t want to chance those three doing a runner.”
“I can let the air out of some tires,” Ellie said. “Anyone have a penknife?”
Steve dug into a pants pocket and produced one. “I should do that.”
“Not a debate, lad. Ellie’s a lot smaller. If she crouches enough, they’ll never spot her.”
“And then?” said Steve.
Lawrence thought a moment. “Here’s what we’ll do….”
***
Deflating the tires was the easy part; Ellie only punctured the rear tires of the Rover and Mercedes. The next step in Lawrence’s plan made her more nervous. She was about to approach the cottage’s front door when the three inside came out. She had to hide behind the taller Rover that was farthest from the door.
“When you return,” the gray-haired man said to Peterson, “we’ll move you down to Durham. I need some more muscle down there, Bruce, and nobody there knows who you are, especially the plods.”
“Sounds like a plan,” said the man Ellie knew as Joel, not Bruce. “Should I work my way back to Newcastle?”
“No, wait a few more days. Lie low here. Jimmy will make sure everything in the Newcastle area is under control by then.”
“No complaints from those three’s chums, Jimmy?” Joel-Bruce said.
Jimmy laughed. “A few took a swim in the Tyne. The others got the message.”
Ellie heard their unmarked car before the three did. Lawrence drove past them to the end of the lane and swung another U to end up alongside the trio. He leaned out the window.
“Evening, lads. I’m a bit lost here. I want to go to Penrith. Can you help me?”
The man called Jimmy approached the sedan. “Best go—”
The sedan’s door slammed into him, knocking him to the ground. That served as signal for the two sergeants to jump into action.
Ellie ran and dove for the old man, stabbing him in the thigh. Steve, who’d positioned himself behind the cottage as part of the original plan, tackled Joel-Bruce from behind. None of the trio had a chance to go for guns. While the old man screamed about police brutality and needing a doctor, Ellie removed the other two’s guns. She’d already checked the old man didn’t have one; she’d left the penknife stuck in his thigh.
“Improvisation just like a good jazz trio,” Lawrence said after all three were in cuffs. “Read’em their rights, Ellie, while I ring Penrith for some backup.”
“I don’t think we need it,” she said with a smile.
“We can’t take that fancy Mercedes, and I’m not crossing the width of England from coast to coast with these three scrotes, so we’ll let Penrith board them for a night or two. We can later extradite them to Morpeth. Paul and his troops can then arrest the combined forces of four drugs gangs.”
***
Back at the Morpeth station the next day, Lawrence had another visit from DCI Hubbard.
“I saw your report…finally. Thank you for being candid. You realize we don’t have much on those three musketeers, right? Just what Ellie overheard.”
Lawrence shrugged. “I’m counting on a lot of grass from the three gangs’ members, if not those of old man Grafton. His Jimmy grassed on Bruce Hedley aka Joel Peterson, and Joel grassed on Jimmy and the old man. I don’t know if that’ll be enough for the Crown Court, so we’ll do a bit more interrogating.”
“You took a big risk and almost blew it.”
“Our original plan was a good one if the three had stayed in the cottage. Ellie looks a lot more like a lost waif than I do. I had to improvise, and my sergeants picked up on the new riff.”
Hubbard nodded with a smile. “All’s well that ends well.”
“Except that the bard never wrote a play like this one.”
***
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