Timlin The Turnaround

1. Auflage 2014
ISBN: 978-1-84344-270-7
Verlag: No Exit Press
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark

E-Book, Englisch, Band 5, 256 Seiten

Reihe: A Nick Sharman Novel

The Fifth Nick Sharman Thriller Disliked by Old Bill and villains alike, South London private eye Nick Sharman attracts trouble like the proverbial magnet. When businessman James Webb asks Sharman to find out who murdered his sister, her husband and two young children, the trail's been cold for over a year; the original police investigators had found nothing - no clues, no witnesses, no motive. There isn't much to go on. Besides, Sharman has other things to occupy him - his relationship with topless model Fiona is rapidly souring, his best friend Wanda is dying and his ex-wife leaves him to babysit their eleven-vear-old daughter, Judith. While Sharman's back is turned things start to hot up - he is followed, attacked and threatened with a shotgun on a busy road in broad daylight and the murder victims start to multiply. Then Judith is kidnaped by a gang of very nasty thugs. And Sharman finally loses his temper...

In over twenty years as an author, Mark Timlin has written some thirty novels under many different names, including best selling books as Lee Martin, innumerable short stories, an anthology and numerous articles on diverse subjects for various newspapers and magazines.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Timlin, Mark

Leseproben

2

He did as it happened, and we went over to the pub. He paid. I had a bottle of lager. He had an orange juice. We sat at a table in the corner out of the way. I lit a cigarette. He told me he’d given up years before. I told him I had too, several times.

He sipped at his juice and I said, ‘You were going to tell me what happened.’

‘Yes,’ he said in reply. He looked longingly at my cigarettes and started: ‘My brother-in-law owned a couple of carpet warehouses just outside London. One in Croydon, one near Gatwick. The Intercontinental Carpet Company it was called. You might have heard of it.’ I hadn’t, but I didn’t say. ‘He seemed to be doing well. He had plans to open another two or three on the coast. Then the recession started to bite, so he shelved the plans. But he still seemed to be doing fairly well. He was a good husband. He loved my sister and she loved him.

‘One night, the twenty-eighth of March last year, like I said, about ten o’clock as far as we can tell, somebody got into their house at Crown Point. It’s a big house, set in its own grounds. It’s called Oakfield. My sister and Dave were watching TV in the lounge at the back of the house. Whoever did it smashed one of the patio doors to get in. They shot the pair of them, and then went upstairs and shot my two nephews. One in the hall, one in bed. They had no chance. They were only babies. The bastards used shotguns on them.’ He clutched at his glass and his eyes were wet. ‘Then after they were killed, I found out that the business was in trouble.’

‘Did he owe money?’ I asked.

‘Some, but the Nat West don’t usually send gunmen to collect.’

‘How much?’

‘Half a million quid.’ Not bad, I thought. Even these days half a million is hardly chickenfeed.

‘Any private debts?’

‘Nothing’s turned up.’

‘So what exactly was wrong with the business at the end?’

He blew out softly between pursed lips. ‘What wasn’t? The usual. Cash flow. Interest on the bank loan. No sales. New stock ordered before the slump came, to replace stuff that wasn’t sold. No cancellation clause. The warehouse was full and the tills were empty. Too many overheads. Rent, wages… Christ, it never stopped.’

‘So what’s happened to it now?’

‘It’s gone. I put it into the hands of the receivers not long after he died. I didn’t want to do it, but I had no choice.’

I made a sympathetic noise. ‘To get back to that night,’ I said. ‘Didn’t the neighbours hear anything?’

He shook his head. ‘There’s not that many houses around. It’s an exclusive area. The back looks over the park. No one heard or saw a thing. Whoever it was vanished into thin air.’

‘Was there an alarm on the place?’

‘Alarms. Christ, the place was rotten with them. They even had panic buttons installed. There was one in the room where they were killed.’

‘But they didn’t use it?’

He shook his head.

‘So it looks like they could have known the people.’

‘It does. Or they were overpowered before they could get to them.’

‘But if they did know them,’ I said, ‘why did they bother to break in? The panic buttons were working?’

He nodded.

‘Where were the patio doors? In the same room as where they were killed?’

‘Yes.’

‘Seems a bit strange. Who found them?’

‘A neighbour. Mrs Godbold. Out with her dog. The front door was open.’

‘They came in the back and out the front. I wonder why they did that?’

‘That’s for you to find out.’

I ignored the comment. ‘And the police have still got no leads?’ I said.

‘None.’

‘It’s going to be bloody difficult.’

‘But you will do it?’

‘I’ll do my best,’ I said.

‘Thank you.’ He took a cheque book out of his pocket and started writing out a cheque. ‘A thousand do you?’

A thousand always does me. ‘Thanks,’ I said.

He finished writing out the cheque, folded it and put it next to my glass. ‘Where will you start?’

‘The police. What station handled it? Gipsy Hill?’

He nodded.

Gipsy Hill Street Blues, I thought. ‘What was the name of the officer in charge?’

‘Superintendent Meadows.’

I shook my head. ‘Don’t know him.’

‘He’s gone anyway,’ said Webb. ‘Retired to Ireland like I told you. There was an Inspector Robber I spoke to.’

‘Jack Robber,’ I said. ‘Christ, Robber by name…’

‘What does that mean?’

‘It means everybody else does the work and he steals the glory.’

‘You know him then?’

‘I know of him.’

‘There wasn’t much glory to be had in this case.’

‘That wouldn’t please him.’

‘So he won’t be friendly to you?’ asked Webb.

‘Not many coppers round here are.’

‘But I thought you used to be a copper yourself.’

‘All the more reason.’

‘Maybe you should move.’

‘To Mars?’

‘That bad?’

‘I’ll survive. But it doesn’t help you much. I warn you, I won’t get much cooperation. So if you want to leave it…’ I pushed the cheque back across the smeary top of the table.

He waved it away. ‘No. The coppers haven’t done much. Maybe you can.’

I shrugged.

‘What exactly will you do?’ he asked.

‘Ask questions. Nose and listen, Mr Webb.’

‘Jim.’

‘Jim.’ Now I had his cheque I supposed it was OK to call him that. We were war veterans by then. Buddies. ‘I’m going into a cold case. Very cold,’ I said. ‘I don’t know what I’m going to find. It might be nothing, it might be bad.’

‘Whatever.’

‘All right. Now what about the house?’

‘What about it?’

‘What have you done with it?’

‘It’s locked up.’

‘Empty?’

He nodded.

‘Who does it belong to?’

‘Me. Everything passed to me by default. There was no other family. I was going to put the house up for sale but the estate agent said we should leave it until people began to forget. It’s not exactly a selling point, and a bunch of ghouls would pretend to be interested just to get a look inside.’

‘Was it paid for?’

‘No. But there was insurance. You know, linked to the mortgage. That paid off the building society.’

‘No other insurance?’

‘No. David cashed those in.’

‘When?’

‘Not long before. When the business was first in trouble.’

‘And you didn’t need the proceeds from selling the house to pay off the bank loan on the business?’

‘I’m not short, I told you that.’

Obviously, I thought. ‘So you just left it?’

He nodded. ‘And then someone broke in.’

‘When?’

‘About two months after the murders.’

‘What did they get?’

‘Nothing.’

‘I see,’ I said. I didn’t, but maybe it was important, or maybe it was some of Webb’s ghouls looking for kicks.

‘What did they do?’

‘Turned the place over. Made a mess. I had to go and clear it up myself. My wife won’t go there.’

I wasn’t surprised. I wasn’t exactly looking forward to going myself. But I knew I’d have to. ‘Have you got a spare set of keys?’ I asked.

‘Of course.’

‘Can I borrow them?’

‘You want to go there?’

I nodded. ‘Visit the scene of the crime. Get some atmosphere.’

He didn’t look too happy about that.

‘I’m not going for fun,’ I said.

‘All right,’ he said. He took a large bunch of keys out of the pocket of his coat, split off a ring with four keys on it, and passed them to me. ‘The gates are padlocked. The front door’s got a Yale and a Chubb lock.’

‘Are the alarms on?’

He nodded.

‘What kind?’

‘Chubb.’

‘Were they on when the place got done?’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘The police were in and out for weeks. I never bothered.’

‘But you do now?’

He nodded again. ‘Not that there’s anything worth stealing.’

‘But just in case.’

‘Yes. If the police want to go in now, they have to make an appointment. Not that they ever do,’ he added bitterly.

‘How do the alarms work?’

‘Simple. From the moment you turn the main key in the front door – the Chubb – a buzzer sounds. Then you’ve got thirty seconds to punch the number code on the key pad just inside the door. On the right,’ he added. ‘On the way out you push the “set” button, the buzzer sounds again and you’ve got thirty seconds to turn the key and lock the door.’

‘I’ll sort it out,’ I said. ‘Give me the numbers.’

‘I’ll come with you if you like.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘I’d rather go alone. I work better that way.’

He nodded and took a notebook out of his pocket and wrote down a series of numbers, tore out the page and gave it to me. I glanced at it and put it in my pocket. ‘I’ll go in the morning,’ I said.

‘Why not today?’

‘There’s one more condition to taking the case,’ I said.

‘What?’

‘I do it my way or not at all.’

‘Of course. I’m sorry, it’s just…’

‘I need to talk to people first,’ I said. ‘Get some idea of what’s happened in the past fourteen months, and if possible before. Besides, what’s another day matter?’

‘You’re right. Do you want another drink?’

I nodded and he went to the bar. When he got back I said,...