Death in July (2 page)

Sam pushed open the large doors of the Barton Arms pub and was immediately struck by a wall of noise. Seconds later, the pungent combination of alcohol and perfume hit him. Taking in the crowded tables and heaving bar, he could see the evening rush was well under way. He headed for the bar, forcing his way through groups of drinkers standing and chatting idly. The heat of the day had nearly disappeared outside, but in here, Sam could almost taste the sweat emanating from the tightly-packed bodies. He spotted a gap at the bar and squeezed into it.

Archie was the other side, expertly pulling a pint of beer. Alongside him, two barmaids, Carrie and Tina, were doing the same. All three looked hot and flustered. Archie looked up, noticed Sam and shot him a hopeful look.

'Hey, Sam! You don't fancy working tonight, do you?'

Sam cast a sideways glance at the throng of customers waiting to be served.

'No, I don't, Archie,' he laughed. 'But I could do with a quick chat when you get a chance.'

Archie shrugged amiably and blew out his cheeks. He was a short, wiry man in his fifties, with ginger hair, freckles and a hooked nose. Prone to mocking his own looks, he often quipped he was only there to make his staff look better. That was Archie down to tee, always the joker.

'Grab a seat,' he said to Sam, placing a glass of whisky down in front of him. 'If you can find one. I'll come and join you when I get a minute.'

Sam took the drink over to an empty seat in the corner. He gazed around, remembering the first time he set foot in here. Archie and himself had hit it off straight away, the landlord explaining to Sam how he had purchased the Barton on the cheap when it was derelict and boarded up. Sam could only imagine how much time and money it had taken to transform the cavernous Victorian building into the thriving venue it was today. Oak beams criss-crossed the ceiling, dimmed lights and fine art adorned the walls, while customers were able to relax on plush furniture. A classic mixture of old and new.

A few minutes later, Archie sidled up next to Sam.

'You managed to escape, then?' Sam said.

'Phew! It's a busy one tonight,' replied Archie, wiping his brow with a napkin.

'Just think of the money,' grinned Sam.

'Oh, I do, Sam,' laughed Archie. 'I often do. Anyway, what's on your mind? I can't leave the girls on their own for too long while it's this hectic.'

Sam picked up his drink and took a sip.

'Have you heard of a bloke called Geoffrey Compton?'

Archie gave the name consideration. Sam was asking him because Archie Curran knew more people than most in Newgate. He had lived in the town all his life and had worked in a good number of its pubs before taking over the Barton.

'The name rings a bell,' said Archie, his face screwed up in concentration, 'but I just can't put a face to it.'

'Ex-soldier,' prompted Sam. 'Lived on Eastern Green Road. Walked with a limp.'

Archie's eyes lit up.

'Wasn't he the bloke who was attacked outside his home a while back?'

'That's the one,' confirmed Sam. 'You didn't know him personally, then?'

'No, never met him,' replied Archie, shaking his head. 'But I remember the fuss in the papers at the time. A war veteran being set upon on his own doorstep and all that.'

'Archie!'

Both men looked over to the bar. Tina had her arm aloft, beckoning Archie over. The queues at the bar had got even longer.

'No rest for the wicked,' sighed Archie. 'I'd better go.'

'I'm getting off as well,' said Sam, draining the last of his drink. 'I'll explain the questions next time I see you.'

***

Outside the pub, Sam pulled his phone out. He didn't know anybody down at Newgate police station, but he still had a contact from his days on the force. The phone rang out twice before a strong Midlands accent answered.

'DI Humphreys.'

'Richie, it's Sam. How are you?'

The groan down the line didn't sound good.

'I'm desk-bound right now, Sam. Broke my leg on a job. It's just paperwork for me for the next few weeks.'

Sam offered his commiserations, knowing only too well how much his old friend would be struggling, stuck behind a desk every day. Sam had worked alongside Richie Humphreys for many years. Richie had stood by him during the dark days following Sam's departure from the force.

'Anyway,' said Richie, 'enough about me. How's life by the seaside?'

'Fresh air, Richie. You can't beat it.'

Richie laughed.

'Give me thick, industrial smoke any day. And how's the private sleuthing going?'

'It's been quiet, but something's just rolled up, and I could do with some details confirming.'

'Fire away, Sam. I'm in front of a computer right now.'

In no time at all, Richie brought up the police report regarding Geoffrey Compton's death. A neighbour had knocked on Geoffrey's door last Thursday evening. Getting no reply, he peered through the window and saw Geoffrey slumped in his chair, surrounded by tablets and alcohol, and immediately rang the police. On arrival, officers broke down the front door and found Geoffrey unconscious. Despite administering emergency first aid, they pronounced him dead at the scene at half past seven. The investigation found no suspicious circumstances. No sign of a break-in. No unexplained prints. Based on the evidence and post-mortem, the coroner recorded a verdict of suicide.

'Sounds pretty straightforward, Sam.'

Sam remembered the conviction in Benjamin's voice earlier that day.

'His son isn't so sure,' he told Richie. 'He's asked me to check it out.'

'Found anything yet?'

'It's still early days.'

'Well, it's hard to argue with the evidence.'

'I know, mate, but I promised the son I'd do a bit of digging...and he's paying well.'

'Fair enough, bud. Just give me a bell if you need anything else.'

With that, Sam rang off and headed for his car. It was time to see where Geoffrey Compton had lived.

***

Eastern Green Road was on the other side of town. With the roads quiet, Sam got there in ten minutes. He took a leisurely drive around the area, getting a feel for the neighbourhood. Driving down Eastern Green Road itself, he noted well-kept houses running down either side. Tidy front gardens and relatively new cars implied the residents were both proud of their homes and financially comfortable.

A quiet, affluent area.

That image was shattered somewhat as Sam neared Geoffrey's home. Loitering outside the deceased man's detached stone cottage was a group of teenagers, none of them looking older than sixteen. They were shouting, pushing each other around exuberantly, jumping up and down on the low wall fronting the cottage. One or two stared at Sam as he drove past.

He continued to the end of the road, where Newgate Ex-Servicemen's Club stood on the corner of the junction. Sam pulled into the car park, got out of his Capri and locked up. Walking around to the club entrance, he glanced back up Eastern Green Road, estimating Geoffrey's cottage to be no more than ten minutes walk away.

Sam's path into the club was blocked by a doddery old gentleman insisting it was a private establishment. Resisting a smile, Sam explained he was an old family friend of Geoffrey Compton and was in Newgate for his upcoming funeral. Would the members mind if he spent some time with them reminiscing over their recently departed friend? Sam emphasised he had the permission of Geoffrey's son to be there. Technically, he wasn't lying. Benjamin had told Sam to do whatever he needed to get to the truth.

The elderly doorman told Sam to wait and went inside the club. Minutes later, he re-appeared and waved Sam through. The main room was large, cool and sparsely-populated. A lengthy bar ran along the far wall, tables and chairs were dotted about the place, and a pool table stood unused in the corner. The dozen or so patrons scattered about the room took little notice of Sam as he headed for the bar. Only the hefty-looking barman paid him much attention. Leaning casually on a pump, hand towel draped over his shoulder, he watched Sam approach. When he spoke, his low voice boomed across the quiet room.

'So, you're here for Geoffrey's funeral, are you?'

'That's right,' replied Sam. 'I've got some spare time, so I thought I'd come and meet some of his friends.'

The barman eyed him suspiciously.

'Where and when's the funeral, then?'

The question was sharp and fast, designed to catch Sam out. He had come prepared.

'This Saturday,' he answered. 'Up at St Monicas church, I believe.'

The barman grunted.

'Well, I don't want you upsetting anybody,' he said begrudgingly. 'Do you want a drink while you're here?'

'I'll have a whisky. So, who knew Geoffrey well in here?'

The barman laughed as he reached up to the optics.

'Everybody knew Geoffrey. He'd been coming here so long he was part of the furniture.'

A glass of whisky was put in front of Sam.

'See that chap sitting in the corner?' the barman said, pointing over Sam's shoulder. 'That's Harry. He was probably closest to Geoffrey.'

Sam paid for his drink and headed for the corner. Harry was an old man in a tweed jacket and grey slacks. On the table in front of him was a pint of ale, a newspaper and a flat cap. He was currently engrossed in the paper.

Sam stood next to his chair.

'Harry?' he said. 'Do you mind if I sit down?'

Harry ignored him, his eyes glued to the racing page. Sam coughed.

'Harry?'

'He can't hear you!' the barman shouted. 'Tell him to turn his hearing aid on!'

Sam rolled his eyes and sat down opposite the old man. He studied Harry a while, trying to imagine what life must have been like for Geoffrey Compton. Stuck at home most of the time. Looking forward to meeting up here with his friends. Sam supposed these places were a lifeline for such people.

Sam tapped on Harry's newspaper. The old boy looked up in surprise. Sam put a finger to his ear.

'Turn it up,' he mouthed.

Harry nodded and began fiddling with his earpiece. Suddenly, whining feedback filled the air.

'Bloody thing!' he complained.

Sam smiled.

'Can you hear me now?' he asked.

'Yes, young man,' frowned Harry, 'but, please, there's no need to shout.'

***

'I probably knew him longer than anyone here. About forty years, I would say.'

Harry supped heartily on his pint. Having sorted out his hearing, he was now chatting away to Sam like a long-lost friend, and to Sam's mixed feelings, he could certainly talk.

'Yeah, met him in here in the early seventies. He was already a regular then, had been for many years. Everybody we knew back then has either passed on or moved away. I suppose that's life, isn't it? Did you say you're a relative?'

'A family friend,' replied Sam. 'Although I hadn't seen him in a long time.'

Harry nodded and drank another mouthful. Sam imagined his new companion was a lively one in his youth.

'Yeah, well, people lose touch, don't they? Me and Geoffrey were both born and bred here in Newgate. Destined to spend our whole lives here, so we were. We had some good times, though. We used to go out as a foursome with our wives, dancing up town or taking in a film at the pictures.'

Harry swished some drink around his mouth before swallowing it. Sam realised the old man was getting tipsy.

'He was a good friend, was Geoffrey. A proud man who spoke his mind and didn't care what people thought. He had a temper on him, mind. He could fly off the handle just like that...'

Harry tried clicking his fingers but missed. Sam got the point.

'Did he make enemies because of it?'

Harry shook his head sadly, stared out the window and murmured something indecipherable. Confusion had appeared on his face.

'Harry, are you alright?'

More shaking of the head. Disbelief in his eyes.

'I still can't believe he took that way out...not Geoffrey...not like that...'

Harry continued to gaze at nothing, struggling to comprehend the manner of his friend's passing.

'Oi! I thought I told you not to upset anyone!'

The barman had appeared next to the table. Arms folded, he stared at Sam in annoyance.

It was clearly time to leave.

***

Sam drove away mulling over his chat with Harry. He was so pre-occupied with his thoughts, he almost missed the fracas erupting outside Geoffrey's cottage. It was only the raised voices that caught his attention as he drove past. He looked in his rear-view mirror and saw a man confronting the same group of youngsters that had been there earlier. The kids weren't backing off. Insults were being traded. One of the taller youths stepped forward and shoved the man in the chest. Sam could see the situation was getting out of hand. He brought his car to a halt and stuck it in reverse.