Fourteen
For the most part, they’d gone easy on Nathan when it came to the first round in the Bull.
Mary had asked for a tomato juice, Howard had settled for a half and Ransford had announced that he was sticking to fizzy water because he was on antibiotics for something personal.
Even Miller had reluctantly done his bit, being uncharacteristically selfless in deciding not to ask for pork scratchings until it was his turn to pay.
There were eight of them crammed around the smallish table in the corner of the back bar.
Mary thought they were a bit close to the Gents, and Howard said the high-pitched chings and beeps from the fruit machine were making his hearing aids whistle.
Gloria pointed out that, what with them being such a large group, it wasn’t as if they’d had a lot of choice in the matter.
‘I know it’s a bit of a squeeze,’ Mary said. ‘But it’s nice that we’re all here. It’s a bonding thing.’
‘Not quite all,’ Miller said.
For the third week running, the group’s now regular tinkler of the ivories had declined an invitation to join them in the pub.
Miller had initially been surprised, having discovered that the water bottle atop the piano contained vodka and becoming convinced that their accompanist was a high-functioning -alcoholic.
He’d now come to the conclusion that Alan was one of those secretive sorts whose attitude to drinking was the same as most normal people’s attitude to masturbation.
It was -something definitely best done alone or – if you found yourself in company and there was genuinely no other option – in such a way that nobody could tell that you were doing it.
‘OK, come on then.’ Nathan clapped his hands together. ‘Let’s hear about Dec’s weird new case.’
Miller took a mouthful of IPA, then leaned forward. ‘Right then. Imagine if you will—’
‘Sorry,’ Ruth said, cutting him off. ‘Before we get into that, has anyone given any more thought to the same-sex couples thing?’ She looked around the group. It didn’t appear that anyone had. ‘Oh, come on.’
‘I thought we’d resolved this,’ Mary said.
‘No,’ Ruth said. ‘We hadn’t.’
Mary sighed and shifted in her seat. She did not seem altogether comfortable. ‘Look, it’s fine for a bit of fun … two men or even two women pairing up to dance together once in a while, you know? Like a gimmick or a comedy skit. But I’m not really a fan of its being a regular thing.’
‘Nor me,’ Gloria said.
‘Why not?’ Ruth looked at Miller, hoping for some support.
‘I’ve got no problem with it.’ Miller wasn’t sure why Ruth was so determined to make this happen, but suspected it might just be about not wanting to be partnered with Nathan quite as often as she was. ‘Don’t ask me to lift Howard, though.’
‘You cheeky beggar,’ Howard said. ‘I lost half a stone last month, and anyway, who says you’d be the one doing the lifting?’
‘Fair point.’ Miller raised his glass. ‘I’d be very happy for you to lead.’
‘It’s all academic,’ Mary said.
‘They do it on Strictly,’ Ruth said.
‘We’re not on Strictly.’
‘You should be glad about that,’ Nathan said. ‘You might be in a bit of bother if we were.’
All heads turned to look at him.
‘What kind of bother?’ Mary peered over the top of her glasses. ‘What are you implying, Nathan?’
‘Nothing.’ Nathan began to stammer again. ‘Just … you know, that bloke got binned off it, didn’t he, a couple of series ago? Because they didn’t like his training methods … accused him of shouting or being nasty or summat.’
‘Steady on, lad,’ Howard said.
‘Are you saying I’m … mean?’ Mary asked.
‘No, I’m—’
‘That’s a bit harsh, isn’t it?’ Howard nodded towards the drink on the table in front of his wife. ‘Especially considering the favour she just did you at the bar.’
Mary picked up her tomato juice and held it at arm’s length, as if it was poison. ‘I wanted gin.’
‘There you go,’ Howard said. ‘She did that for you.’
Mary put the glass down again and stared at it sadly.
‘I think you’ve all known me long enough to know that when I talk about your routines, if and when I offer constructive criticism, I’m never trying to be mean.
’ She looked to Gloria and Vero-nica. ‘But there’s really no point in me not being honest, is there? ’
‘No point at all,’ Gloria said.
‘Completely pointless,’ Veronica said.
‘Personally, I’d be happy if you lied every once in a while,’ Miller said.
‘I’m sorry, OK?’ Nathan began to pick at the label on his beer bottle. ‘It was just meant to be a daft joke and it didn’t come out right. I honestly didn’t mean to suggest you were a bully or anything like that.’
‘A bully?’ Mary’s hand flew somewhat dramatically to her chest. ‘Who said anything about—’
‘I think that’s enough.’ Typically, Ransford did not raise his voice (he’d done so only once, when Howard had lost his balance during an exceedingly demanding jive and elbowed Gloria in the side of the head) but there was enough edge in it to command the immediate attention of everyone at the table.
‘I’m going to get another round in, which will include gin, and then we’re going to listen to Declan’s story.
’ He looked at Miller as he pushed back his chair.
‘My guess is, we’ll be on far safer ground talking about murder. ’
So, a few minutes later, with a fresh pint and a bag of pork scratchings in front of him, Miller talked the group through the murder that never was, from the body being fished out of the lake in Claremont Park through to the description of the dog/knife-related contretemps given by the individual who’d mistakenly believed he was responsible for a man’s death.
When he’d finished, Miller sat back and began puffing theatrically on an imaginary pipe, teasing his audience like an over-the-top amateur sleuth on some old-fashioned detective show.
‘That, then, ladies and gentlemen, is this evening’s fiendish criminal conundrum.
A victim who falls into a lake and drowns, but only after a head injury inflicted by a heavy, blunt object.
A murder weapon of which there is no sign whatsoever, and but one single suspect, completely exonerated by the footage from a CCTV camera.
’ He nodded and raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘So, how do you explain it?’
‘He hit his head on a rock when he fell in,’ Mary said. ‘Obviously.’
Howard nodded. ‘Knocked him spark out.’
‘There’s some hefty old rocks in that lake.’
‘Oh.’ Miller tried not to sound too disappointed. ‘I thought the mystery might take a bit longer to solve than that.’
‘Well, I’m impressed,’ Veronica said.
Ransford raised his glass in tribute to Howard and Mary’s powers of deduction. ‘Me too.’
‘It wasn’t much of a mystery though, was it, Declan?
’ Mary looked at Howard and they both chuckled.
‘You’d already given us a fairly big clue by telling us it was a murder that wasn’t actually a murder.
’ She looked around the table. ‘Oh, come on, I think we all worked it out, didn’t we? Or would have soon enough.’
Nathan was studying a beer mat. ‘Oh yeah, eventually.’
‘Nice for that poor man in the park though,’ Mary said. ‘The one whose little dog was attacked. To know he wasn’t responsible.’
‘Yes,’ Miller said. ‘That was nice.’ He wasn’t sure what was more annoying: Mary and Howard solving it so quickly or the fact that he and the rest of his crack team of detectives had taken so long to reach what was – in retrospect – a blindingly obvious conclusion.
Admittedly, they could not have done so without seeing the CCTV footage and hearing the statement from Barry Cheshire, not to mention the post-mortem and the report from the underwater team.
But even so …
It was a little humiliating.
‘You’ve definitely had more exciting cases,’ Nathan said.
‘Sorry it wasn’t a bit more entertaining,’ Miller said. ‘I suppose you’d prefer it if I was working a case that had a few more bodies. A nice juicy mass murder, or maybe a serial killer knocking around.’
‘That would be good, yeah.’ Nathan saw the horrified reaction on several faces. ‘Well, not good, obviously.’
While the group discussed the matter, weighing up the ghastly scenario of a serial killer roaming the streets of Blackpool against the fun they’d have talking about it in the pub, Miller sat back and thought about some of those who might have known Ezra Simmons …
professionally. The ‘business associates’ who did not yet have all the facts, so might not have reached that blindingly obvious conclusion about how he’d died.
People he’d sold drugs to or bought them from to sell.
The ones working in import and wholesale.
The individuals at the top of that chain.
Under normal circumstances, the cause of Ezra Simmons’s death would not be made public until after an inquest. Even then, if the media team put out a story that the death was not suspicious, it still might not be enough to satisfy some people.
The ones who were constantly looking over their shoulders, eyeing up the competition; who could do all manner of stupid things if they felt threatened.
If they jumped to what was very much the wrong conclusion.
Miller would mention it to Xiu tomorrow, see if she shared any of his concerns, because he reckoned it was definitely something they should be thinking about.
‘How many people does someone actually need to kill, then?’ Nathan asked. ‘To be a proper serial killer?’
Miller stared at him. ‘Something you want to tell me, Nathan?’
‘Got to be at least three victims, I think.’ Howard turned to Mary, who nodded confirmation. ‘Yes, three.’
Nathan thought about it. ‘What if someone did all three at the same time?’
‘Oh, I’m not sure.’ Howard looked at Mary again. ‘How would they—’
‘Like, if some nutter ran amok during a recording of Strictly and bumped off three of the judges. Anton Du Beke, Shirley Ballas and Craig Revel Horwood, say … one after the other.’
‘Goodness me,’ Mary said.
‘Would that still count?’ Nathan asked. ‘Would you call him a serial killer?’
Miller sipped his beer and tore open the bag of scratchings. ‘I don’t know what I’d call him, but I’d certainly buy him a drink.’