The Trawlerman Read online

  Alex shook her head.

  ‘“Chuck it in the bin,” Frank told Curly. “Half of it was forged anyway.” When Frank was starting out, he sold on drugs to another dealer and got paid out forged notes. That’s what Frank was paying people off in to get rid of them. A cold bastard in every way. And that’s when he started taking poor Danny Fagg out instead.’

  ‘His cousin?’

  ‘That’s right? You met him?’

  ‘I went out on his boat.’

  ‘You notice his hand?’

  ‘One finger of his right hand was missing.’ She remembered the flush in the big, shy man’s face as she had asked him about his missing finger.

  ‘Frank did that. Danny wasn’t much keener than Curly to do any of this. They had an argument about it one day, Frank held his hand on the winch so the cable cut the finger right off. Crushed it. That’s the kind of man Frank was. An angry little bastard, all the time. You can say it was all his dad’s fault but – know what? – you don’t have to turn out like your father.’

  ‘No, Bill. You don’t.’

  Bill paused to pick up his tea and drink. ‘And now, every time Frank went out, Curly would go round to check on her. Neighbours probably thought they were having an affair. It used to happen all the time, with the boats. Curly tried to look after her. He did his best.’

  There was a knock at the door. Bill stood and went to it. A woman in her fifties was there; face brown from the sun. She looked disapprovingly at Alex. ‘Is everything OK, Bill?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘That’s her, is it?’ demanded the woman. Alex guessed the woman in khaki dungarees was the smallholder.

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘She found you, then?’

  ‘Yes. She did.’

  She looked at Alex, unsmiling. ‘Please be nice to him.’

  ‘I will try.’

  ‘Not like the last time.’ The farmer held her gaze for a second, then turned and disappeared.

  ‘This is her place. She lets me stay here for nothing.’

  ‘She knows about me, then? And she doesn’t like me much.’

  ‘Nope.’

  Alex said, ‘Good for her. I don’t like me much right now, either.’ She took a gulp of her tea. It wasn’t so bad. ‘Go on, Bill.’

  ‘And so it went on. Of all people, I ought to understand why women who are being beaten up by their husbands just carry on through it all and don’t tell anyone.’

  ‘You didn’t turn out like your dad, Bill.’

  Bill nodded. ‘Just the same. That’s what it was. I looked at Tina standing there on her doorstep at Broadmead Road and I saw my own mother. All she needed to do was to tell us and we’d have arrested him, and he would have been out of her life, but she never would.’

  ‘People like Frank control every aspect of a woman’s life.’

  ‘I know all that.’ He sighed deeply. ‘I know everything about that, believe me. So I waited to hear from her and I never did. Until one day, a little over seven years ago, when Curly called me up and told me Frank was dead.’

  ‘Oh my God.’ Alex slammed her tea down onto the step, splashing tea. ‘It was Curly that killed him?’

  ‘I got a phone call in the middle of night. Curly told me to come urgently because something terrible had happened. My first thought was that Tina had been attacked by Frank again and that he’d finally done it. I told him to call the police. But he said no, she was safe. But he wanted me to come to her house because he had something he needed to show me. Well . . . not even the house. He told me to come to Frank’s garage. Broadmead Road is one of those Victorian streets with workshops at the back, built against the railway line. Half of the Hogbens’ house was above the old archway you had to go through to get there.’

  ‘I know. I went there.’

  ‘Of course you did. You would do that, wouldn’t you?’ A breeze rustled the wheat in the next field; a pale shiver of silver passed across the brown. ‘So it was two in the morning or something. When I got there, I could see the light was on, so I knocked on the door. One of those big old wooden doors with a smaller little door in it. Curly opened up the wee one and let me in. At first all I could see was Frank Hogben’s Ford Escort. His dad’s old car.’

  ‘Sunburst red.’

  ‘His pride and joy. The car his father had died in. That’s another story.’

  She nodded. ‘I’ve heard it.’

  ‘Of course you have. It was the car that killed his father. What you didn’t know is it killed the son too. I saw two feet sticking out of it.’

  ‘Oh God.’

  ‘That’s right. He had been changing the gearbox, Curly said. Great cars for being able to tinker with, those old Escorts. Curly said Tina had found him like that a little earlier and had called him in a panic, not knowing what to do about it. It fell on his chest and crushed the life out of him. Alex?’ Bill looked at her, suddenly anxious. ‘Are you OK?’

  Forty-two

  ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’ Bill said.

  Alex realised she had her arms pressed against her chest; she felt as if someone were pulling a strap tight around her. ‘I don’t know what it is,’ she whispered. ‘Do you think I’m getting asthma?’

  ‘You’re sweating,’ he said.

  ‘It’s the weather. It’s close.’

  She was panting like a dog in a hot car. Bill put his arm around her with a tenderness that she was not used to from him. ‘Take some more deep breaths.’

  When she had calmed enough, he stood and returned with an earthenware jug of water, which he poured for her. It wasn’t cold, but he had put a sprig of mint in it to freshen it.

  ‘Better?’

  ‘I have these dreams. I don’t really remember them. But I just wake up feeling really short of breath. A little like that.’

  He nodded.

  ‘Like a weight is pressing down on me.’

  ‘Poor girl,’ said Bill.

  Lambs almost as big as their mothers were bleating, demanding milk. A breeze blew dandelion seed into the sunlight.

  ‘Go on then. Tell me what happened, Bill.’

  He waited until she’d drunk all the water. ‘You sleeping badly?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Drinking too much?’

  ‘Rich, coming from you, Bill.’

  And now a pair of lambs, foreheads thick with new wool, approached to inspect them, sniffing Alex’s trainers. When she stretched out a hand towards them they skittered away. ‘Get on with it. Tell me, Bill, please. I can’t bear it.’

  He settled himself on the wooden steps. ‘Frank Hogben hadn’t died straight away. I could see that. His shins were covered in blood from where he’d been kicking up at the car’s sills. He must have been doing it quite a while.’

  ‘What made you realise it was murder?’

  He turned towards her. ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘Because if it was just an accident it would have been simple and you’d have just called it in. You obviously didn’t.’

  He ran his hand through his hair, then put his elbows back on the step above. ‘I could see that right away. There were two heavy-duty jacks taking the weight under the engine. Both had been let down. You might get one jack failing, but not two.’

  ‘Someone let the car down on top of him deliberately and crushed him slowly to death. But you still didn’t call it in as murder?’

  ‘No.’ He sat up again, plucked a long stem of grass that was growing up through the steps. ‘Of course, she said she didn’t do it. She just called when she found him there. Claimed she wasn’t even there.’

  ‘Why didn’t she call the police, then?’

  ‘Well, exactly. And Curly told her to call me. Because we were friends.’

  ‘She might have got away with it. History of domestic abuse. J
uries are getting more lenient about that.’

  He shook his head. ‘Given the method of murder, I much doubt it. He was still kicking when the second one came down on him. However much he deserved it, that was absolutely premeditated. She would have gone down for a while. What would you have done, Alex?’

  ‘You know what I would have done.’

  He nodded. ‘Oh yes. I know. But I’m not you and I was there, thinking, what shall I do? That’s when Curly told me about the drugs and how he’d intimidated half the neighbourhood.’

  The lambs were back again, still curious.

  ‘And so you took it on yourself to make sure she walked?’

  ‘Yep. Nobody was going to accuse Danny Fagg of doing it. And there were plenty of people who turned up at the inquest and swore blind they had seen Frank get on The Hopeful the day he disappeared. Curly had seen to that. Even if people thought there might be more to him disappearing, there was nothing for them to go on.’

  ‘You helped her get rid of the body? Where is it then?’

  He looked at her with sadness. ‘I know we’re different, you and me, Alex. I know you do what you feel you have to do now.’

  She nodded.

  ‘I don’t mind going back to jail. I’ve lost all my bloody money, anyway,’ he said with a small laugh.

  ‘How will you manage?’

  ‘I’ll manage. It’s Curly and Tina who I worry about. They’ll go down too, won’t they?’

  ‘What happened to the money?’ she asked. ‘Frank must have had loads. It has never turned up – if it had, they might have figured out that Frank Hogben had been dealing drugs all this time. You got rid of that as well?’

  ‘We hid all the money, forged or not; Frank’s and Curly’s, same place we hid Frank. It’s somewhere nobody’s ever going to find it. I told Tina and Curly that I’d help Frank disappear, but they had to promise they would never touch any of the money they’d got from all that. Know what? I don’t think either of them really wanted it anyway. They just wanted him gone so badly. That’s all either of them ever wanted.’

  ‘What about you? Did you ever want the money?’

  He was a man who had worked all his life and who was now sitting on the bare step of a dwelling that was no more than a few square feet. ‘I don’t mind saying it’s been on my mind, recently.’

  ‘I bet it has. You are flat broke, is what I hear.’

  ‘You don’t think I haven’t considered taking a few to tide me over?’

  ‘You wouldn’t do that, Bill.’

  ‘Says you.’

  ‘Not that you don’t deserve it, Bill.’

  ‘Life’s not fair, Alex.’

  She stood and turned to face him. ‘What did you do with the body, Bill?’

  ‘Secret,’ he said.

  ‘Last time I arrested you, I remember I cried,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t even get the proper bloody words out.’ She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.

  ‘It’s OK. Somebody has to believe in all this stuff. It might as well be you.’

  She sat next to him for a long while, and eventually said, ‘Can you get us a ride home, Bill? I’m done in. I’m too tired to cycle.’

  He looked confused. ‘Aren’t you arresting me now?’

  She stood. ‘Not today, Bill. Maybe another day.’

  ‘I don’t get it,’ he said.

  ‘Nor do I, really, but there’s something important I have to do first.’

  She shook her head, then reached her hand out to him to help him stand.

  Forty-three

  They rode home together in the farmer’s Land Rover pickup, Alex’s bike in the back.

  Bill got out at Arum Cottage. ‘I’ve been keeping the bird bath topped up for you,’ she said.

  ‘Bloody thing. You know you’re going to have to do that when I’m back inside?’

  ‘Sure.’ He turned and sighed. After the farmer had said her goodbyes, Alex wheeled her bike up the track, leaving him alone. Zoë was at the house when she let herself in.

  ‘How was Tina?’

  ‘I like her. She’s nice.’

  Alex thought of the way Tina had let down the jacks, one after the other, on top of her husband. Not nice, perhaps, but understandable. Frank Hogben’s mother had been right all along. Tina had been a murderer. Alex had figured out who had killed Mary Younis; now she knew who had killed Frank Hogben. She should be satisfied with the way she had made something of vague shapes in the dark.

  ‘You look done in, Mum.’

  ‘Yeah. I am.’

  ‘What about Bill? Did you find out why he’s hiding from you?’

  ‘As a matter of fact I did. Did you?’

  ‘No. He never told me. He just asked me to trust him.’

  ‘And you’ve been seeing him every day?’

  ‘Some days. I took him food and stuff. Is he back?’

  Zoë’s grin was pure and uncomplicated. And she was running out of the door to welcome him back before her mother could say anything else.

  At eleven Zoë was not back. She would be staying over at Bill’s, which was good.

  The curtains in Terry Neill’s bedroom were open, but there was no moon tonight, and the tides were getting higher. The new moon was bringing a seven-metre tide with it. A low pressure system was moving down the North Sea. The summer weather was about to end and the pumps out on the marsh would be working hard again soon.

  She could hear the waves from up here; the small thump as the water fell, the regular, gentle hiss as it retreated. At around one she heard a car pull up outside, then the key in the door, and finally the feet on the stairs.

  When the light came on, it was absurdly bright. She was blinking when Terry exclaimed, ‘What the hell—?’

  ‘I let myself in,’ she said.

  ‘Obviously.’ He stood at the top of the stairs at the end of the house that faced the road.

  She sat at the opposite end, on the window seat. ‘I couldn’t sleep.’

  ‘What a lovely surprise, to find a gorgeous woman waiting for me in my bedroom.’

  ‘Creep.’

  ‘It’s the truth, Alex. Can I ask how you managed to get in?’

  ‘I’m a police officer – allegedly, at least. I saw where you leave your spare. Your alarm code is 1974, which I saw you enter last time you brought me back here and which is also confirmed as your date of birth as displayed in your passport.’ She held it up.

  The smile left his face. ‘Ah.’

  ‘I had already guessed why you were hiding it from me on the boat trip. I just wanted to be sure.’

  He walked a few more paces into the room. ‘Drink? Wine?’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Something stronger?’

  ‘No thanks.’

  ‘Coffee maybe? You look tired.’

  ‘Yes, I am. I’m very tired indeed. More tired than you would ever bloody believe.’ She flicked through the passport. She had found it in a drawer of his desk downstairs. ‘Five trips to Guatemala in the last three years.’

  He approached her. ‘Are police officers allowed to go rummaging through people’s drawers? I could make a complaint.’

  ‘You invited me into your house, Terry. I was just acting like a suspicious lover. You could try complaining but it wouldn’t stand up. You’re a cold one, aren’t you?’

  He shrugged. ‘You’ve got me wrong.’

  ‘I believe I did get you wrong, yes. You called Ayman Younis your best friend.’

  He pouted slightly. ‘And he was.’

  ‘But you didn’t mind defrauding him of over four hundred thousand pounds for a forestry project in Guatemala that doesn’t even exist. It was the money he had saved for his son.’

  He kept a straight face. ‘What makes you think it was me?’

  �
�Of course it was you. How else do you live like this?’ She waved her arm around the house. ‘Don’t tell me that this is all your pension. I looked into that, too. You were asked to leave your university under a cloud after several warnings about your drug use. I doubt your pension was stellar.’

  ‘Maybe I had a big inheritance.’

  ‘Maybe you did. Or maybe you are the con man.’

  He frowned. ‘Even if it was true, which it isn’t, you wouldn’t be able to prove anything. Hypothetically speaking, obviously.’

  Alex sat there for a while looking at him. ‘Are you sure about that?’

  For just a second he looked nervous, his head jerking back a fraction, and she knew right then absolutely that she had been right.

  ‘Fairly confident,’ he said eventually. He was right about that too, unfortunately. She had spoken to an old friend at the Met who specialised in this kind of crime. That was how these scams worked. There would be no trail at all that led back to Terry Neill. He was not listed among the benefactors of Biosfera. He had used Ayman Younis as the conduit for the cash from all the other so-called friends at the golf club. He had set Ayman up to be the one who told everyone else how great the investment would be. By now all the money would be lying in some obscure account in the Caribbean where Terry Neill could access it whenever he wanted. As long as he wasn’t too greedy and didn’t move too large a sum in any single transaction, nobody would be able to prove anything.

  ‘How low does this all go, Terry? Did you invite me out because you wanted to know how the case was going, as well?’

  He shook his head. ‘Nope. All that was sincere, I promise.’

  ‘Nothing you say is reliable. You’re a con man.’

  ‘Are you fishing for compliments? You want me to tell you I asked you for a date because you were intelligent and good-looking?’