Chapter Eighteen
Danger by the River
“We can put him off until this evening,” Jason said, pulling on his shoes. He winced. It hurt like hell to bend down. He hitched his foot onto his knee to tie the laces. “Once I finish work. I’ll been done soon after five.”
Unexpectedly, he had a full day in the office ahead of him. Ryman had demanded a meeting for ten o’clock which would likely run until noon, then he had booked him in for a full afternoon of appointments. In between all of that, he wanted to find out all that he could about the photographer Blake Remar.
“I don’t want to wait that long.” Marc slipped his arm, bulky with a plaster cast, into a sling. “I’ll find out what he knows and fill you in afterwards.”
Tyrone’s call last night had left them on edge. Jason had no doubt Tyrone knew more about Theo than he’d revealed so far but doubted whether he’d be forthcoming with all the information. He’d give them a little bit, then come back in a few more days with a higher price .
“He’s a grifter. I know what he’s like, just let me handle him. I’ll make it clear this is the last penny he’s going to see.”
Marc sat on the end of the bed beside him. “This might shock you, but I’ve been a successful businessman for over twenty years. I know how to strike a deal and I can smell a bullshit artist from a mile away. I’ll pay Tyrone what he’s asking for today, but that’s in exchange for everything he knows, nothing less.”
Jason put a hand on his leg. “All I’m saying is this kid’s a shark. Your broken arm will be like blood in the water to him. He’ll sense weakness and exploit it.”
“Then he’s in for a big surprise, isn’t he.”
He could see there was no point in arguing any more. He understood Marc’s urgency to move on with the investigation, but there was already a target on his back. Whoever had come after them on Friday would likely try again. “Let me see if I can rearrange my appointments. I’ll come with you.”
“Ryman is already pissed off with you. He’ll go ballistic if you start neglecting your other duties. And I’d feel exactly the same in his position. Go to work, do your job and we’ll catch up later.”
“What if Tyrone was the driver on Friday? This could be a trap.”
“Do you think he is?”
Jason sighed. “In all honesty, no. He’s a thief, and a conman, but I doubt he’s violent. Physically, you could hold him down, even with a broken arm.”
“There you go then. Nothing to worry about. I’ll get him the cash, find out what he has to say, and tell you all about it tonight. ”
Jason didn’t like any of it, but Marc would not be discouraged.
“Call me as soon as you get there. I want to be in on the meeting.”
“You mean if anything goes wrong I’ll have a witness.”
“Just do it. Please.”
Marc put his hand on top of Jason’s. “I promise.”
* * * *
The stairs to the first-floor office were trickier than Jason had predicted. After two days of rest, his sprained ankle didn’t feel any better and neither did his broken rib. The painkillers he’d taken with breakfast did little more than take the edge off. He gritted his teeth and gasped until he reached the top.
Ryman was waiting. The stern, angry face he’d prepared for Jason’s arrival, dropped at the sight of him.
“Shit, you look awful,” he said as Jason reached the reception desk.
Olivia jumped up from her chair and hurried to him. “My God, you do. You shouldn’t even be here, you should still be in bed.”
“She’s right,” Ryman said. They crowded around him. “I’m taking you straight home.”
“Guys, just back off, will you. Give me space. I don’t want to go home or go to bed. I’m here and I want to get on with things, okay. Don’t make a fuss.”
Undeterred, Olivia unbuttoned the top of his shirt and peeked down at his chest. She gasped on sight of his bruises and beckoned for Ryman to take a look.
“You’re black and blue all over,” she said .
“It’s worse than it looks.” A lie, but if he said it enough times he could almost believe it was true.
They continued to make a fuss. Olivia plied him with tea and biscuits, until he went through to Ryman’s office for their meeting.
The anger Ryman had been filled with yesterday seemed to have dissipated now they were face to face. He watched as Jason uncomfortably shrugged off his jacket and sat. “I really don’t think you should be here.”
“I want to be here,” Jason said. “I want to be doing something. If it gets too much, I’ll go home early, but right now, let’s just get on with things.” He was in half a mind to ask Olivia to cancel his afternoon appointments so he could go with Marc to see Tyrone, but Marc had already made his feelings clear. Work had to come first.
“I think you’d better start at the beginning,” Ryman said. “Tell me everything that’s been going on with this case.”
Jason did as he asked. He skipped over their visit to The Viaduct, but otherwise left nothing out. He told him everything about his relationship with Marc and how it had developed.
“You can’t continue with his case under the circumstances,” Ryman said.
“I know, and I’m not,” Jason said. “This isn’t a case anymore. Someone tried to kill me as well as Marc. It’s personal. I need to find out who is behind this before they try again. I’m no longer acting for the business. This is for me and Marc.”
Ryman nodded in agreement. “I think that’s for the best. But that doesn’t mean the firm won’t be involved. I want to see everything you’ve got and I’m going to help you. The sooner this mess is resolved, the better. ”
“You don’t have to do that. You’ve got your own workload.”
“But I’ve only got one partner,” Ryman said. “An attack on you is an attack on all of us.”
A ball of emotion welled in Jason’s throat. He swallowed with difficulty. “Thank you.”
“What about Soloman Archer? Do you think our fuck-wit MP has anything to do with this?”
“My guts tell me yes. But I haven’t found any evidence against him. I haven’t even been able to speak to the fucker yet. He’s been in London the whole time.”
“That counts for nothing. I’ll start digging deeper into him. Find out what else he’s involved with. Any dodgy connections. Dubious partnerships. The bloke is worth a fortune and few people build that kind of wealth by playing nice.”
“I can’t work him out at all. And he’s got so much to lose. Fair enough, he likes to screw around with young guys on the side. I dare say he’s not the only member of Parliament who gets up to that. But Theo wasn’t exactly discreet about their arrangement. Why take the risk?”
“It gives Soloman more reason to silence him, though. Theo was blabbing his mouth, so he had to shut him up.”
Jason scratched his chin. “I know, that’s the obvious conclusion, right. But why do it in such a high-profile way? Wouldn’t a fake overdose drawn less attention? Or a stage robbery that goes wrong.”
“You’re making the assumption that he has access to the kind of people who can arrange those things. And was prepared to pay the price tag that comes with a professional hit. The way Theo was killed and the botched attack on you, doesn’t say professional to me. It smacks of local lowlifes doing it for a few hundred.”
“But again, why? He’s much more likely to be caught out that way. You know what the local criminals are like. They would sing like a canary if they were arrested in connection to the attacks.”
“It won’t hurt to ask some questions.” Ryman had a string of contacts in Blyham’s criminal community. “People are talking about what happened to you on Friday night. There must be some rumours about. I’ll find out what the word is. What else have you got?”
“I need to follow up on what Tyrone told me about this photographer. There was some kind of disagreement between him and Theo. It will probably amount to nothing, but I’d like to speak to him anyway and find out what he knows.”
Ryman nodded. “Fair enough. You get onto that, and I’ll start making some calls. Let’s see what we can dig up.”
Jason exhaled with relief. “You don’t have to do this, but thanks.”
Ryman got up and came around the desk. He sat on the edge, looking down at him with the face of a kind uncle. “I can’t lie, this time yesterday I was furious about what you’ve done. But I can see the bigger picture. Some bastard came after you and we need to find them before they try it again.”
* * * *
Marc stopped at a high street coffee shop after visiting the bank. His entire body ached, especially his back. He’d underestimated how tough the recovery process could be on the body. He ordered a tea and a chocolate brownie, hoping the sugar boost would revive him. He eased himself into a chair by the window, with a view of the railway station. While he waited for the tea to brew, he dialled Tyrone’s number.
“Who’s this?” Tyrone snapped.
“It’s Marc Glass. I’m Theo’s brother. I’m the one who hired Jason and I’ve got the money you asked for.”
“Er, where is Jason?” The angry tone had shifted to one of suspicion. He had a very strong, regional accent.
“He’s working. I’ve got the cash you want so you can tell me what you know.”
“Money first. Then I’ll talk.”
It was no less than he’d expected. “I’m in the city centre right now. I can meet you whenever. Just tell me where you are?”
A long pause, then, “After what happened to the pair of you, I don’t want you coming by my place. You can keep your trouble to yourself.”
“I already told you, I can meet you anywhere.”
“All right. I’m seeing a client at two. You know the footpath that runs along the river, downwards from the concert hall?”
“No, but I can find it.”
“Just walk down from the hall, it’s about five minutes along the river.”
“Why don’t we just meet inside the hall?”
“Cause I don’t wanna be fucking seen with you in public, that’s why? Don’t wanna become Blyham’s next piece of roadkill, do I? I’ll be there at four, or thereabouts.”
Tyrone hung up before Marc could respond.
Jason hadn’t been kidding about the kid’s attitude. It stunk. He wondered how well Theo had known him. Though Theo hadn’t been hung up on things like class. It wouldn’t have bothered him how rough or unmannered Tyrone was. Besides, they’d been collaborators, rather than friends.
Marc poured the tea and settled back in his chair. He had a few hours to kill before he met Tyrone. He wasted time on his phone, searching for news reports on their hit-and-run. There was nothing online that he didn’t already know. The car that had hit them was a Mercedes E-class saloon. It had been stolen from a side street in the west of the city earlier that afternoon and had been found burned out soon after the incident. Thankfully, neither he nor Jason had been named as victims in any of the reports.
Marc’s parents were still unaware of what had taken place. It pained him to hold back from them, but it would only cause so much worry. They had been through enough. If he could keep it from them until they made a breakthrough in the investigation, it could only be for the better. It wouldn’t just be the attack he would have to tell them about. The entire story of Theo and his lifestyle would have to be revealed and he wasn’t prepared for that conversation yet.
He spent an hour going through his work emails and making phone calls. His heart wasn’t in the job, but it gave him a distraction from everything else. Afterwards, he moved on to another café further along the street, where he ordered lunch and did some further research into Soloman Archer, reading up on his backstory and voting history in Parliament.
It made for grim reading. Soloman was as far right as it was possible to go. Anti-European, anti-union, anti-migrant. He’d voted against several progressive LGBTQ and trans policies. He also had his fingers in private health companies with an interest in dismantling the NHS.
What a piece of shit . Marc doubted whether his brother would have been aware of any of this, or if he would even have cared. Theo had never shown any interest in politics or national issues. He rarely had anything to say about current affairs or news. The only reason he would have even known Soloman was an MP was if Soloman had told him. Soloman would have been a source of finance and little else to him.
And what had Theo been to Soloman? A disposable piece of arse? An inconvenience? A liability?
Marc took his next dose of painkillers and got an Uber to take him from the city centre to the concert hall. This was as far as the vehicle could get to the river side footpath. He would have to walk the rest of the way. It was a cold, gloomy afternoon, but there had been no rain for several hours and he hoped it would stay that way.
Fastening his jacket to the neck, his shoved his good hand in his pocket and set off along the trail. The exposed fingers beneath the plaster cast immediately felt the chill but he had no way of warming them. Maybe he would be able to convince Tyrone to come back to the warmth of the concert hall once he’d gained his trust. If I gain his trust .
Marc had been aware of this footpath but couldn’t recall walking along it before. It was a lot nicer than he’d expected and he was sure he would have remembered it. With the wide river Bly on one side and a well-established park on the other, it was lined with trees, cycling lanes and a children’s play area. The Vermont Hotel was directly opposite on the other side of the river .
Marc consulted the tourist direction sign. According to the map, the footpath followed the course of the river all the way to the North Sea, six miles down. Tyrone hadn’t told him exactly where to meet. Surely, he couldn’t mean that far.
After a few minutes, Marc reached a park bench and paused. It was five to four. He checked the path in either direction. There was no one else in sight. He keyed a quick message to Tyrone, telling him where he was.
There was a splash in the river ahead of him. A quick flick of a fish tail on the surface before it darted away. Something sizeable by the disturbance it caused.
For the first time, Marc doubted the wisdom of coming alone here, especially with three thousand pounds of cash in his pocket.
Four o’clock came and went with no sign of Tyrone.
Jason had shown him photos of the young man, so he knew who to expect. He checked his phone again. There was no reply to his message.
The cold quickly intensified as a chill wind came off the water.
By ten past four he was still waiting. Marc shivered. He couldn’t stay here for much longer. He decided to give Tyrone until quarter past. If he failed to show by then, he would go to his apartment with Jason once he had finished work.
As the sky darkened, the path took on an ominous aspect. The trees were bare of leaves. Spring had yet to stake a claim on the long, cold winter. In another month, this same area would look very different. He imagined it thronged with dog walkers and joggers, but on this bleak afternoon in March, it had a sad, haunted quality .
He waited five minutes beyond the cut-off he’d already decided upon. His fingers and toes were numb. He couldn’t wait here any longer. Tyrone was a no-show. Marc decided he would head for the warmth of the concert hall café and let Tryone know he could find him there until six o’clock. The kid was likely messing him around. Fucking with him for some twisted reason. Though Jason was adamant Tyrone was all about money. Why would he set up an exchange with no intention of collecting? Even if he made up a pack of lies about Theo—which in all likelihood was what he’d do—he would still expect payment for it.
Fuck it .
Marc started walking back along the river and pulled out his phone. He dialled Tyrone’s number.
Jason is right. The kid is a grifter. No doubt the price would go up the next time they spoke to him.
He got the dial tone.
Marc froze, half a step forward. He moved the phone away from his ear, convinced he could hear something. Ringing? The wind coming down the river whipped the sound away.
Then it stopped.
Going back to the phone, he heard Tyrone’s voicemail message. He hung up and redialled, listening more intently.
This time he heard it. The ringing came from the bushes, somewhere behind him.
“Tyrone,” he yelled. “Tyrone, are you there?”
Nothing. The ringing stopped as the voicemail kicked in again.
Marc cautiously retraced his steps and dialled again.
The sound came from behind a length of bushes that ran behind the footpath .
He stepped onto the grass that was sodden and waterlogged from last night’s rain. Mud sucked and squelched at his feet. He hit redial once more.
This time the ringing was much closer.
The hairs down his neck and spine suddenly prickled.
Get out of here. Run.
Marc fought the instinct to flee.
Please God, not again .
The ringing came from under an overgrown section of bush. With a trembling hand, he eased a branch aside.
A slightly built young man lay in the dirt below it. He clutched a mobile phone in his stiffened hand. His eyes were open and unfocused. His skin was a ghastly shade of grey.
Marc recognised the same grim expression of death he had seen on the face of Dan Blumel.
The man’s chest was a bloody mess of lacerations, so vicious and deep they had torn right through the padding of his coat and shredded the flesh beneath.