Читать книгу Greywater - Mr David Dalby - Страница 5

Charlie Harris rented an apartment just off Sasdy Road. The street was short and narrow. If Hazel hadn’t known what it was called from Harris’ police record she wouldn’t have been able to give it a name. Nor had the city council by the look of it.

There probably had been a street sign up on a wall at one time in the past. But when or why it vanished Hazel didn’t know. Nor did she have any idea why the city council never bothered to put a new one up.

Jerry Price had been annoyingly enthusiastic all morning. He’d chatted away as they went back to the main police H. Q. He’d really liked that. He hadn’t ever been there before and made sure he had a coffee from the vending machine, just like a real detective.

Hazel decided against telling him none of the detectives used the machine because the coffee was overpriced and tasted terrible. Price didn’t seem to mind.

He seemed overly impressed with the choice of cars on offer behind the H. Q. and was only mildly put out when Hazel signed out a Honda. “There are two Beemers.” He said pointing at one of the BMWs.

“I’ll drive.” Hazel said, unwilling to put her life in his hands.

So here they were, parked in a narrow street, the only car in the street, looking at some elderly apartment buildings. Strictly speaking these were bed-sitters. They were about the cheapest living accommodation in the city. Any cheaper and you were on the streets.

“Just sit still a minute.” Hazel said, as Price opened the door. “This isn’t Dransfield.” She looked up and down the street, “They know we’re the police.”

“Who knows?”

“At least four people are watching us right now.” Hazel said, “You can see them at the curtains.” She pointed out the nearest. “And there as well. Across there. Up there on the second floor.”

“How do they know we’re the police?”

“The fancy aerial on the back of the car,” Hazel said, “That and the fact that the only time a car pulls up here the police are driving.”

Price gave a short laugh.

“Yes.” Hazel said, “It’s very amusing at first. Do you imagine anyone who has to live here can afford a car? This is cheap housing, low paid work, if they can get any work, and, usually, people with very poor education. It’s a recipe for crime.”

Price was, surprisingly, still cheerful, “Sounds exciting. If it’s so bad how come we didn’t arrive with back up?”

Hazel nodded, as if she were taking his comment seriously, “Yes, we could have done that. I’m sure the residents would love to see a couple of van loads of coppers descending on them. They know we’re the police, and they can probably guess we’re here about Charlie Harris. They may not be overly educated, but they know how to use the internet and can read news stories. Which means they know we’re likely to leave them alone if they keep quiet.” She paused, opened her door and stepped out onto the street. After a moment she said, “That’s interesting. Come on out.”

“What’s interesting?” Price joined her on the street.

“We’re not being watched any more.” Hazel said. She continued to look at the windows. All interest had ceased right after she stepped into view.

“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” Price said. Hazel had to give him credit for not being nervous. Possibly he was too stupid to be worried.

“It’s a thing.” Hazel said. “Come on, let’s get this fiasco over with.”

“Why fiasco?” Price said, following her over to the apartment building. “Aren’t you supposed to buzz first?”

Hazel opened the door. “It’s broken.” She said, which wasn’t entirely true. She was familiar with these places. It had been vandalised at some time in the past and never repaired. Lack of funds or lack of interest. Possibly both. “The locks on these places never work properly.” There were various reasons why but it was often some local who had forgotten his key and would rather break the door open than ring for the building supervisor. Usually the supervisor was at home sleeping. These places never had anyone on permanent call.

“The downside is the lift won’t be working.” Hazel said. If it was she wasn’t intending to travel in it. The smell in those enclosed spaces was usually pretty bad.

“You never know.” Price pressed the button.

Hazel leaned against the wall and watched him. She said, “You can come out from there if like.”

A balding, middle aged man, in blue overalls put his head round the corner. He looked incuriously at them

“Hello.”

“You’re the building supervisor?” Hazel said. She showed him her warrant card, though he probably knew they were the police. Hazel had the impression he couldn't care less who they were.

“Yes.” He sounded bored.

“You know why we’re here?”

He shrugged and vanished. Price said, “Lift works.” The door opened.

A beefy, teenage boy barred the way in. Behind him Hazel could see a blonde female head. Price and the boy stared at each other for what seemed like a long time.

“We’re taking the stairs.” Hazel said, raising her voice slightly. She didn’t want a punch up in a confined space. The teenage boy nodded slowly, grinning. The lift doors closed again. Hazel could hear it moving upwards once more.

The balding head appeared again and a pudgy hand held out a key.

“Someone told you to cooperate?” Hazel said. She took the key. The bald head vanished again. Hazel shrugged.

“What’s all that about?” Price said.

“I don’t know.” Hazel said, though she had a few ideas. “Come on, up the stairs. The exercise will do you good.”

The place was painted a dull and unimaginative magnolia gloss. Though time and neglect had rendered it dark with greasy hand prints. The steps were stone and the hand rails metal. Any doors were firmly shut. Hazel sniffed. The drugs squad would probably have a field day if they came here. Which, if they ever did, it would have to be in force with plenty of back up.

She led the way, noting that Price seemed to manage the steps pretty well, he wasn’t red faced or puffing by the time they reached the top.

Hazel indicated one of the doors. “Charlie Harris’ place.” She said. It had a spy hole in the top centre and looks robust. She waited a moment, but could hear nothing inside so she tried the key.

The door opened easily and harmlessly.

Hazel led the way inside.

“It’s not exactly palatial.” She said. It wasn’t. It was as dull and devoid of personality as she expected. Small, cramped. A sofa bed. The dominant thing was a huge TV set.

“It’s not so bad.” Price said optimistically. “It’s got everything you need.”

“Everything a man needs.” Hazel said. It was, essentially, a man cave. Television. Sofa – bed. A plug in cooker and a fridge. Plus, of course, the inevitable cheap lap top. “Do you know anything about computers?”

“I know all about computers.” Price said with such confidence that Hazel didn’t believe him. She handed the lap top over, “Compute.” She said. She turned her attention to the wall opposite the window. The décor was modern pornography to judge by all the images Harris had posted on it with blue tack.

“I don’t think you should have done that.” Price opened up the lap top.

“Well you were the o ne who claimed he knew all about computers.” Hazel said without looking round. From what she could gather from the pictures Charlie Harris preferred a definitive type of woman. Young, blonde, fair skinned, and with a liking for classic hosiery. Black seamed stockings and suspender belts had never gone out of fashion on this wall.

“I wasn’t talking about the computer.” Price set the lap top down and started it up, “This one is rubbish by the way. I bet he got it second hand for less than a hundred euros.”

“What were you talking about?” Hazel couldn’t see any books, so it was reasonable to assume Charlie Harris didn’t go in for much literature.

“We backed down from the kid in the lift.” Price said. He drummed his fingers casually on the desk as he waited for the computer to boot up. “I bet this is so low on memory it takes ages to do anything.”

Hazel opened a drawer. It held underwear. Pretty standard boxers and socks. “That kid as you call him wasn’t much younger than you. I said we’d take the stairs if you remember.”

“We shouldn’t have backed down.” Price said, The computer came to life. “He didn’t know much about computers. No password to protect his data. He’s not even changed the screen saver.”

“If you feel that strongly, go pick a fight with the kid.” Hazel said, “I’m all in favour of a quiet life.”

“Even if that means he doesn’t respect us?”

Hazel looked around in a general manner, “What do I care? I’ve never been here before and I’m not likely to be here again. Why would I be interested in what some teenager who lives here thinks of me?”

“I don’t mean you and me. I mean we, as the police, in general. We might not have to come here again, but what about the local police?”

Now Hazel did look round, “Are you joking?”

“Well, no, why would I be joking.” Price said, looking genuinely puzzled.

“This is in Elm Street’s area. They’re the ones who police around here. Don’t you think it odd that we just turned up here without contacting the Elm Street station?”

“Well, now you come to mention it…” Price said, clicking on the document folder.

“You’ll notice that no one from Elm Street is actually here with us as we root around an apartment in their area.”

“Yeah, I did notice.” Said Price, nodding unconvincingly. He had neither noticed nor wondered about any of that until Hazel had pointed it out. “What am I looking for?”

“Everything.” Hazel said. “Anything that’s going to tell us where he might have run off to. Emails from friends and family. Social media. Just see what there is.”

“OK.” Price pulled up an old wooden chair and sat down.

Hazel said. “We didn’t tell the Elm Street police we were coming here because we don’t want them to know. We also don’t care if the locals don’t respect the Elm Street police because no one respects the Elm Street police. Do you understand?”

“No. This computer is filled with pornography.”

“Well of course it is.” Hazel took a magazine called Dirty Blondes from a drawer. Everywhere else is, why would the computer be any different.” She sighed. “You’ve not heard about the Elm Street police in Dransfield then?”

“What about the Elm Street police?” Price had shifted his interest to social media. “He spends most of his time on line posting about how fit various actresses are.”

“Blonde ones?” Hazel said.

“Yeah. Yes…They’re all blonde.”

“The local police….” Hazel said, paused, then continued slowly, “….are not really to be trusted. If we do meet any, let me do all the talking.” She was thinking about blondes. Not the blondes on the computer or the wall, Hazel was fairly certain they were Russian porn models. In the last couple of decades the Russians seemed to have captured the market in pornography. Which probably made some oligarch very happy. Along with a small army of teenage boys.

Hazel was thinking about blondes in the city. She was fairly sure Harris would be with one of them. She didn’t see a man like that fantasising about blondes without having access to a real one.

“What did you say?” She was vaguely aware that Price had said something to her.

“Richard Softwood.” He said, speaking slowly and clearly.

“Who?”

“I asked if you knew who Richard Softwood was.” Price said again. “Harris has been emailing him. Or the other way round, I don’t know. But there’s a load of emails here. He’s got no sense of keeping these things secure. I bet he’s got really cheap virus protection.”

“Never mind the virus protection.” Hazel said, “What were you just saying?”

“He’s got some free anti-virus system I never even heard of. This computer’s going to be full of stuff a lot worse than some pornographic pictures.”

“The emails.” Hazel said, “Could we concentrate on those?” She gave up the seemingly fruitless search amongst the porn and came over to look at the emails on the laptop screen.

“Richard Softwood.” Price said, “See. He’s sent Charlie Harris a whole load of emails over…well….looks like years. Do you know him?”

“It sounds like a made up name.” Hazel said, “If it’s real then he probably doesn’t have happy memories of his school days. Can you look him up?”

“I should be able to.” Price said, “The emails are pretty ordinary. Asking how he is, If he’s well, birthday and Christmas greetings. Here we are Richard Softwood. Softwood Salvage. Recover, Reclaim, Recycle.”

“Scrap dealer.” Hazel said. “North of the city?” Most of industrial areas were located in the North of Temple Caneston.

“Belasko Industrial Estate.” Price said, “Yes. He has a unit there. Let’s see…” He clicked on a link, “Here we are. Unit 27. Softwood Salvage was started forty years ago by Richard Softwood and Charles Harris. That doesn’t sound like our Charlie Harris if it was forty years ago.”

“It’s his father.” Said Hazel, who had read Harris’ police file. “Our man is Harris junior.” Though there had been no details about his father. Hazel would have remembered a name like Softwood. “I thought his father was dead.”

“He is, he’s been dead eight years.” Price said, reading from the screen. “This Softwood…hang on….” He went back to the email screen. “Yes….He started all the emails to Charlie about eight years ago. Sort of checking on him. Maybe he wanted to keep the kid out of trouble.”

“Harris was no kid eight years ago.” Hazel said, “And maybe softwood wanted to make sure he was in trouble.”

“Don’t get you, Sergeant.”

Hazel shook her head. She wasn’t entirely certain she understood it herself, “Come on, let’s pay Mr Softwood a visit.”

Travelling down the stairs was a lot easier. Out in the street a police Freelander was parked behind their undercover car. A beefy black policeman waited by the Freelander, leaning casually against the door.

“Hello, Sergeant Vernon.”

“Constable Stanger.” Hazel said. “Nice to see you again.”

“I’m surprised to see you at all. We had no warning you were coming here.” Stanger looked over at Price. “Jon Stanger.”

“Jerry Price. I….”

“He’s a new recruit.” Hazel said quickly inventing a lie. “We were just passing through.” She’d told Price to keep his mouth shut and let her do the talking. Why wouldn’t the idiot listen?

“This about Charlie Harris?” Stanger said, “It’s all in the papers. We’re keeping an eye out for him.”

Hazel nodded and opened the car door, “Well so are we. In you get, Price.” She found it difficult to be friendly to either of them. Stanger she didn’t trust and Price was a fool.

“Find anything?” Stanger said.

“We’ll see you around.” Hazel bustled Price into the car.

“Yeah, well, give us a call next time you’re in this part of town, Sergeant Vernon, then we can help you.”

“What did you do that for?” Price said as they drove off, “He’s a cop too. We’re all on the same side.”

“No.” Hazel said, “We’re not.”