Running Stupid: (Mystery Series) (23 page)

“Croquet?” It’s for rich English people,” the American said brashly.

“It’s a lot like golf actually.”

“It’s nothing like golf,” Maloney walked away from the window and sat down on a wooden chair, padded with stuffed velvet lining. “It’s mini-golf for old people,” he said dryly.

“Fadel seems to like it,” Chambers noted.

Maloney nodded distantly, his eyes on the window. “He’s bored, that’s all,” he said blankly. “He told me he’s getting fed up with England. I can’t say I blame him.”

“Hey, watch it,” Chambers warned. “This is my country, don’t knock it.”

Dennis shrugged impassively. He turned away from the window and looked Mark Chambers directly in the eye. “I brought you here to talk about the kid,” he said simply. “Let’s talk.”

Chambers blew a cloud of smoke in front of them and then spoke through it, “What do you want to know?” he asked.

“This Charles guy, tell me all about him,” Maloney instructed, resting back in the chair.

Chambers leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Okay,” he said. “As you already know, I sent him after the kid.”

“In the forest,” Dennis interjected.

“Yeah.” Chambers nodded. “I knew he’d find him, he may be a slack-arse waste of space, but he has his uses; he’s good with people.”

“I don’t care,” Dennis said bluntly. “All I care about is the kid.”

“Anyway,” Chambers said, hurrying along. “He’s maybe a little
too
good with people, if you know what I mean. He’s not like us.”

“We’re heartless businessmen, Mark,” Dennis said in a deep tone. “Most people like us are in jail or in government.”

“You know what I mean. He’s empathic. The man has morals.”

“Shame on him,” Dennis said with a great deal of sarcasm.

Mark Chambers raised his eyebrows, took a long draw from his cigar and rested back in his seat. “As I was saying,” he continued. “I sent some guys to follow him.”

“You sent him to follow Jester and sent hit men to follow
him
?”

“Yes, and they found him.”

Maloney brightened up. “That’s promising,” he said. “Where is he?”

“I’m getting there,” Chambers said in a relaxed tone, taking a huff of thick cigar smoke. “They saw Charles entering a cabin where the kid was, so I told them to kill him. Clearly he was siding with the kid–”

“What!” Dennis bolted upright, alert again. “If they kill the kid, the game is over.” He snarled at Chambers. “If the game is over, you’re no longer any use to me.”

“Don’t threaten me, Maloney,” Chambers warned.

Dennis paced the floor, shooting occasional glances of disgust the way of Mark Chambers. Eventually he sat down.

“The kid is alive,” Chambers said.

Dennis’s face sparked back into life.

“I never heard back from my men,” Chambers added.

“Do you know their location? Get some men out there.”

“I did,” Chambers said with a nod of his head. “I sent three more lads. They phoned me just before I got here.”

“And?” the American pushed eagerly.

“The two hit men were dead ...  executed, the lads said.”

“Holy shit,” Dennis said, a sly look his eyes. “He killed
again
?”

Chambers nodded bleakly.

“Okay,” Dennis was nodding to himself, his thoughts racing. “Okay,” he repeated. “We need to start the show – up the ante.” He looked instinctively towards the back window. “Did your men touch the bodies?”

“No, they’re still there. I told them to clean the place up and wait further instruction.”

“Phone them now, tell them to stop,” Dennis said quickly.

“Why?”

“We need that crime scene, we need those bodies.”

Chambers’s face described another, ‘
why
?'

“I have an idea,” Dennis said smiling. “Just bear with me on this.” He sat back in the chair as Mark Chambers brought a mobile phone out of his pocket, tapped out a series of numbers and then pushed it to his ear.

The short journey to the caravan park felt like hours to Jester and Edinburgh. They were both tired, their bodies destroyed, their minds in dire need of sleep. Barely half a dozen words were spoken during the final half hour of the journey. The car had been in complete silence.

The park was at the end of a long country road, flanked on either side by tall hedges, over which were lines of fields, farms, and holiday homes.

Charles slowed the car and cruised to the entrance of the park, his foot hovering over the brake when he saw a security man in a booth near the entrance.

“Shit,” Jester said. He quickly sprung into life, looking over both shoulders before staring at Charles. “You fucking idiot,” he hissed. “It’s a two seater.”

“What?”

“You said to jump in the back if there’s a guard on duty. It’s a two seater!”

“Shit,” Charles instinctively looked over his shoulder. “I’m not used to this car. It’s my wife’s.”

“I told you it was a woman’s car.”

The car was edging closer to the booth. Next to the security guard’s small hut was an electronic gate, operated from inside the booth.

“It’s dark,” Charles said. “Just stick close to the window, turn your head, he’ll only see me.”

Jester did as instructed, turning his head towards the side window and resting his chin on his palm, his eyes staring out of the window.

Charles stopped at the inspection point. He rolled down his window and the security officer on duty, a balding middle aged man listening to a portable radio, looked inside. “Good evening,” he said pleasantly.

“Hello,” Charles said, clearing his throat to rid his voice of the anxiety that flooded his body. “This is all new,” he said, indicating to the gate and the booth. “When did they set up this?”

“Last week,” the security officer said. “Been a few problems with youths. Usual stuff.”

Charles nodded and handed over his caravan keys. Attached to the keys was a key ring given to him when he bought the caravan. It was this that the security man inspected.

“It’s a bit late to start your holiday, isn’t it?” the security man said, handing the keys back to Charles and sneaking another look inside the car.

“My wife kicked me out,” he said. “Just needed a place to stay.”

The security man caught sight of Matthew Jester, practically sticking his head through the open window to look at him.

“Friend of mine,” Charles said, noticing the guard’s stare.

“Okay,” the guard said after a few moments. “Go through, enjoy your stay.” He disappeared back into the booth and pressed a button. The gate swung open.

When Charlie started the car back up and drove into the caravan site, Jester came out of hiding.

“What a cheeky bastard,” he said. “Peeping in like that. You should have smacked him.”

“It doesn’t matter now,” Charles said. “We’re here.”

Jester scoured the park from inside the car, his eyes peering through the smudged passenger window. Through the fog and thick lashings of rain, he saw a well maintained, spacious park. The road they were on was narrow and twisted, flanked on either side by grass. Underneath the tyres, pebbles and gravel chips popped, some crushing on impact, some shooting out of the tyre grips like stones from catapults.

Jester watched as they passed a line of shops, closed for the night, hidden underneath the shadow of a low hanging sign which protruded from the front of an arcade.

Passing a children’s park – placed in the spotlight of a solitary lamp post that stood near a set of swings – the car rolled up onto the grass, its headlights breaking through the darkness to pick up yards of empty lawn.

In minutes they had arrived at their destination.  Leaving the engine on and the headlights fixed on the caravan, Charles jumped out of the front door, braced the harsh wind, and sprinted towards the door. Jester watched as the driver fiddled with the front door. The caravan was larger than he had expected, much larger. More like a mobile home or a villa-on-wheels than a simple caravan. In Jester’s head, the word caravan conjured up images of rusty shells propped up on bricks, blind to the benefits of a good wash. But this one was different. It was elegant.

It was big, the length of a bus and wider. Matthew counted three windows, all along one side. All around the caravan someone had planted flowers. Some were blooming, some withering, others already dead. Next to the large window at the tip of the caravan, someone had laid a rockery adorned with large stones and little cherubs.

Jester turned his attention back to Charles who had just managed to open the door. He turned to Jester and beckoned him over. Jester quickly rushed out into the cold and clambered into the caravan.

He expected to be hit by a solid wall of warmth, but he wasn’t. It was just as cold inside as it was outside. Behind him Charles rushed back into the cold, closed the doors on his wife’s car and then returned to the caravan. He slammed the door shut whilst removing his coat.

“Nice,” Jester made his way into the living room. The room itself was bigger than any caravan he’d ever seen. “This place is huge.”

“Thank you.” Charles draped his coat over the back of a mahogany chair, pushed up to a mahogany table. “Julie always liked caravans. I was never a fan myself, always thought they were too small.” He crossed to the living room and tossed himself onto a dark brown sofa. “But then I found this,” he opened his arms, gesturing to the mass of space. “Space, mobility, relaxation, security ... what more could you want?”

Matthew was standing by the window. He had brushed the curtain aside with his forefinger, peering outside. “Sun?” he offered.

“I’m going to bring her here when we hit a sunny period,” Charles said. “I was going to arrange it for this month but …” he allowed his sentence to trail off.

Jester retired from the window and headed into the kitchen area. “Where’s the heating for this place?”

“Next to the cooker,” Charlie shouted across. “Big white thing.”

Jester nodded, reached out, switched something on and then took a seat opposite Charlie. “How did you afford this place, anyway?” he asked.

Charles took his eyes away from the stare of Matthew Jester, an anxious movement instantly noticed by the younger man. “I ...” he paused, hesitated, he brought his eyes back to Jester’s inquisitive gaze. “Mark Chambers,” he said, defeated. “He gave me the money; a few months ago now.”

“
Gave
you the money?”

“Well, it was my and Julie’s anniversary coming up. He knew I needed money.” Charles shifted in his seat, an uncomfortable movement. “I asked him for a loan.” His words were hissed, almost pushed out, overshadowed by a hidden agenda. There was something in his words that suggested he wasn’t telling the truth, or at least not all of it.

“And?” Jester pushed.

“He gave me it,” Charlie said.

Jester leaned back in his chair and straightened an awkward pain in his lower back. “There’s something you’re not telling me,” he said, leaning forward again.

“He gave me the money as an incentive,” Charlie said, his face a mixture of emotions. “
Kind of.
”

“You’re confusing me.”

“The money was all about you,” Charles said blankly. “He knew I needed the money for our anniversary, he knew I would do anything to make Julie happy, so he lent me the money to buy this place.” Charles retained eye contact as he spoke. “I then found out he wanted me to do a few jobs for him.” He flashed Matthew a look of recognition but it wasn’t received, so he explained, “Such as driving you to the court house.”

“Ah,” Matthew nodded.

“He used the caravan as part of his ploy.”

“That guy really has you by the balls, doesn’t he?” Jester said lightly.

Charles nodded bleakly. “He knows my weaknesses. He knows I love my family and would do anything to keep them happy. He exploits that.”

“Well,” Matthew sighed and rested back in his chair. “At least he’s only tried to kill you once.”

“The business man who put forward the reward was Fadel?” Matthew asked.

“The reward was probably Maloney’s idea. Chances are he used Fadel’s connections and money to do it though.” Charles paused, pondered and continued. “But it could have been one of the punters as well.”

Jester nodded and threw himself back in his seat.

They had been in the caravan for nearly an hour, batting the story back and forth. They both wanted answers and justice, but the answers were slim and justice was far away. Charles had found a bottle of whiskey inside a wardrobe in one of the bedrooms. Matured for twelve years, in his possession for another seven, he won it at a charity auction back when he was a working man and was waiting for that, ‘special occasion’.

He decided that his chances of ever encountering that special occasion had somewhat diminished since he had met Matthew Jester. He poured himself a healthy measure into a crystal tumbler. Jester had turned down the offer of alcohol. His body was rife with aches and pains but also flooded with narcotics. He had no intention of sleeping, and alcohol along with the drugs already in his system, would be more than enough to knock him out.