The Door is Still Ajar Page 12

  Blumer’s sleep that night was filled with strange dreams and images. Pamela’s brutally honest opinion of him had hit him like a sledgehammer. He knew that everything she said was true. He was a lonely man. His whole life, every fibre of his being was geared up and honed for catching killers. It was his calling, his spirtual duty and everything else in his life simply had to take second place. How could a man even begin to explain this; not to just Pamela, but to any woman? It was in the early hours of the morning when his slumber became more easy and relaxed. The strange images and and lucid dreams were still swimming around inside of his subconscious, when suddenly one image jumped out and was stuck right in his face.

  He suddenly woke up and nearly jumped out of bed and shouted, “Eureka! Well I’ll be damned. How on earth could I miss a clue as blatent as that?”

  He was now back on track. A massive, central piece of the puzzle had slipped into place. All he needed to do now was to ask Peter Parnell a couple of more questions. He had a hunch that another piece of the puzzle may then slip into place. Then he would go and visit Harry Parkes again. Harry had been very helpful so far, but what he would ask him for now was really going to make him wonder what was going on and what he would be up to next.

  When Blumer rang on Peter Parnell’s doorbell this time. He could barely supress his excitement when Peter opened the the door. “Good morning Peter. Sorry to disturb you again. I’ll be quick. I only have a couple of questions.”

  “Good morning John. No problem at all. Let’s hear ‘em then. Hope I can help you.”

  When he left Peter Parnell, he went straight to the nearest phone box to try and arrange a meeting with Harry Parkes, as soon as possible. He could not go down to Clacton to catch Danny Garcia, until he had in his possession what wanted from Harry Parkes. He then went into a menswear shop and bought himself a navy blue blazer, three polo shirts and two pairs of boating shoes; a blue pair and a beige pair. When he looked in the mirror he looked like somebody out of The Prisoner series. But he was no prisoner and he was not going on holiday.

  CHAPTER 19

  Bethnal Green.

  0120 In The Morning.

  An angry landlord jumped out of bed and threw his bedroom window open. Two prostitutes were having a very loud shouting match in the street and he he’d had enough.

  “Hey you two. Shut the fuck up, or I’ll call the police right now. Now move on!”

  They looked up at him, muttered something between themselves and walked away, in opposite directions. He noticed a thug that he only knew as Hammond stagger by, blind drunk and disappear along a narrow dark alley. Just as he had climbed back into bed he was rocked by an explosive BANG BANG. When the police found Hammond, halfway along the ally, he was stone dead. Somebody had blasted him under his rib-cage with both barrels of a double barrelled sawed off shotgun and had jammed a dirty sock in his mouth. The only person who had witnessed Hammond enter the ally was the landlord, when he had threatened to call the police, regarding the two fueding prostitutes. Neither of the prostitutes came forward and they had already departed when Hammond had staggered into the ally. There were also injuries to Hammond’s back. He had been thrown against the wall with great force, before being blasted.

  Whitechapel

  0145. The next morning

  Dawes was laying in bed thumbing through an old porno’ magagazine, when he heard a very faint knock on his door. He was not really alarmed, because he thought that it could be Doreen; a pathetic, alcoholic prostitute, that sometimes serviced him. He got out of bed and opened the door. But it wasn’t Doreen; it was a blond women carrying a big floral patterned shoulder bag, who he did not know. He did not have time to see the double barrelled, twelve bore, sawed off shot-gun, before he got blasted by both barrels, under his rib-cage. When the police arrived, they found Dawes’s naked body, with a dirty sock jammed in his mouth and a broomstick rammed up his anus. The police believed that both killings had been planned and had been carefully and visciously executed. The killer appeared to be setting a brutal example.

  When Blumer walked into Harry Parkes’s office the next day, Harry was eager to talk to him.

  “Good morning John. We cannot go on meeting like this. I take it that you know what happened to your friends Hammond and Dawes. Who would do something to a couple of nice chaps like them? They must have done somethin’ really bad to get shot like in a bloody duck-shoot.”

  “First of all, they were no friends of mine Harry. But two bums like that must have made a lot of enemies in their sordid careers. I think they were killed because they knew something.”

  “Well I can assure you that it wasn’t me, or Benny Goldberg who did it. They would have simply disappeared. Nobody would have ever seen ‘em again”

  “I know Harry, I know. But get this. Whoever killed them wanted it to look like a gangland killing. The whole thing was too staged, too dramatic, too spectacular and showy. Whoever killed them was trying to remove attention from himself. He is one clever and cunning bastard.”

  Whatever you’ve got yourself into John, don’t you think you’d be better off contactin’ your friends in the Met. You could be way out of your depth, with somebody that kills like that.”

  “No chance. If he even gets an inkling that he is about to staked out, he will simply escape again. He’s always one jump ahead. I think he’s gettting desperate and cleaning house. He’s taking out anybody that could implicate him in not just one murder, but several.”

  “I don’t wanna’ pry John. Is this personal. Could it be to do with the Leon Boyd case? If you’re allowin’ your judgment to be blinded by revenge and bitterness, or a sense of injustice. Then you could be makin’ a serious mistake, John.”

  “It’s personal alright. But this is a challenge that I’ve never known before. I actually think that he could even be mocking me. Something is driving me on, but I don’t know what it is.”

  “Try to stand back and think about what you’re doin’ John. You could be in serious danger.”

  “Are you still in contact with the old gangland armourer, Alfie Smethhurst?”

  “No, he retired a few years ago. But what would you want with him anyway? Unless you intend to go on a duck-shoot of your own John. I can phone is son Raymond, if you like. I think that Raymond knows a liitle bit about tools of the trade, so to speak. He’s taken over from Alfie.”

  “I’m asking for two big favours from you Harry. I want a Browning, with a thirteen round magazine. And I want about thirty, or forty nine mil’ parabellum dum-dum bullets. Do you think you could get them for me Harry?”

  Harry could not hide his amazement, and sounded flabbergasted when he said, “Dum-dum bullets. What the bloody hell do you need dum-dum bullets for John.? You ain’t goin’ on no duck-shoot. You only want dum-dum bullets, if you really wanna’ rip somebody up!”

  “I might need to. I can’t afford to give this bastard a chance. If I have to face him down, then one mistake, or miscalculation, then it could be curtains for me.”

  “Okay John. I’ll phone Raymond and I’ll let you know. But this is strictly between me and you.”

  “Thanks Harry. And could you put a twenty four hour guard on Carol Locke. And tell him not to make sure that he let’s nobody near her. She could be in serious danger. He will also need to be tooled up. She could easily end up like Hammond and Dawes, if she knows too much.”

  “Oh, Come on John. Who would wanna’ kill a poor little cow like Carol Locke?”

  “Somebody who is getting desperate and burning all of their boats and bridges. Somebody who can and will kill anybody that gets in their way. Without any remorse, or pity.”

  “I’m a man of my word John. If it was not for you Stewart Briggs would have probably got away with killing my nephew and that other kid. And he may well have killed again. I know that you single handedly caught the bastard. I owe you, but I think I also owe you some adv
ice. If you think you know who you’re after, then why the bloody hell don’t you tell the police?”

  “That’s the problem. I don’t know who, or rather what I’m after. All I’ve got is a jumbled up mess of clues. You know why I was thrown off the Leon Boyd case. I only said that Boyd may have had an accomplice. I did not say that he certainly did have one. I said at the time that there were a few anomalies that should have been looked into, before the case was closed. The whole bloody shebang was done and dusted just a little bit too quickly for me. And everybody who I have interviewed recently has inadvertanly provided me with a piece of a puzzle. I’m now sure that Boyd did have an accomplice. And by hook, or by crook I want to prove I was right all along. Call it what you like Harry, vanity, false ego, or grim determination. I want to be exonerated. My dignity was taken away from me in a very public way. And I’m sure this bastard knows it.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Two days later Blumer boarded the Clacton train. He was sporting his new ragalia. A navy blue blazer, navy blue boating shoes and a white Fred Perry polo shirt. Harry had managed to provide him with the Browning and dum-dum bullets, but if had been under sufferance. Harry had been honest with his opinions. He had told him before he left that he was behaving like a man possessed, rather than a dogged and reason driven murder detective. In the Met he had been boxed in by rules, regulations, protocols and measured procedures. Now he was a free agent and he was free to do things that he alone deemed to be right.

  When he phoned Richard Marshall and told him about how he was about to proceed, Marshall had wanted to know what he had found out. He had told him to hold on. He was about to go in and try to force somebody to come out into the open. But he had to smoke him out. Whoever had given Hammond and Dawes the business end of a sawn-off shotgun, had achieved exactly what they had wanted. It had been splashed out in the main tabloids. ‘IS GANGLAND CLEANING HOUSE’. ‘GANGLAND KILLS TWO, WITH SHOT GUNS BLASTS’. GANGLAND DELIVERS A SOCK IN THE JAW TO TWO AS A WARNING – refering to the dirty socks that were jammed into Hammond’s and Dawes’s mouths.

  Richard Marshall had already booked Blumer into a room at Jaywick. It was close to a pub called The Never Say Die. He had told Marshall that he needed to be as close as possible to where Danny Garcia’s food vending van was situated. He had also told Marshall that he would be out of contact with him for a few days, because he had a lot to do. Three carriages along a middle-aged woman was making three teenage girls laugh, with her impersinations of Frankie Howard and Ena Sharples. The Browning and bullets were concealed in a compartment inside of Blumer’s suitcase. The investigation was about to go into overdrive and take off like a rocket.

  Meanwhile Danny Garcia had just left a phone booth in Jaywick, near the Sheldrake pub. He had phoned Carol Locke in desperation, asking her to take him back. Carol had told him an emphatic no. If things were going bad between him and Erma, then that was his problem, she didn’t want to know. Erma had told him to shut down early and she would meet him at the chalet that they were renting along Avis Avenue, Brooklands. He could not do a bunk, because Erma controlled all of their money. And she completely owned him anyway, with what she knew about him.

  Blumer got out of the taxi, outside the Never Say Die and paid the taxi driver. The address was easy to find. It was a large chalet that looked out over the sea. Blumer rang the doorbell. The door opened and he was confronted by a rough looking man, who’s nose was flattened across his face, like a boxers nose. The man looked him up and down like a drill-sergeant and said, “Who are you and what do you want?”

  “Good afternoon. My name’s John Blumer. I would like to speak to a Mister David Norris. I believe that Mister Marshall has phoned him to book a room for me.”

  The man’s manner changed immedtiately and he became more friendly. “Ah Mister Blumer, I’ve been expecting you. Mister Marshall has told me that you will require a room for a few days. I’ve only got a small room for you, if that’s okay. You can also used the phone in the hall, if you need to. He also asked me to try to help you, if you need anything.”

  Blumer thought that Marshall must have paid this bloke up front well, because he became openly friendly with him now. It’s amazing how some people can dance to the tune of money.

  “That’ll be fine. I only really somwhere to sleep for a few days. I won’t need much else.”

  “Come in, I’ll show you the room.”

  The room was indeed quite small. All it had was a single bed, a single table and chair and a broken wardrobe, with one door hanging off, but it would do for his purposes. The first thing he did was open his suitcase, put his few clothes in the wardrobe and take out the gun from the compartment inside the suitcase and loaded the dum-dum bullets into the magazine. Later on he would go and find out where Danny Garcia was and moniter his and this mysterious Erma’s movements. But they must not know that he is watching them under any circumstances.

  At the same time as Blumer was loading his gun. Erma was in their rented chalet in Avis Avenue, contemplating what to do next. Danny had lost his nerve. She had suspected that he had been in contact with Carol Locke. She had intercepted a letter for Danny from her, opened it, read the contents and then tore it up. Danny had started losing his nerve when Hammond and Dawes had turned up at Skegness. When they had turned up here, he then began to panic. Luckily she had managed to dodge them twice. Erma knew that Danny was stupid, but not that stupid.

  The first thing Blumer did that evening was to go into The Never Say Die. He went over to the bar and ordered a pint of Ben Truman. He looked like a tourist that had stopped off for a quick pint. The beer tasted good and the few people who were in there were not paying any attention to him. That was exactly what he wanted. When he finished his pint he walked out into Broadway, the main road and turned left. When he had visited Alice Burgess he had not been any further than Seaway. Brooklands was a strange place and as he walked along the narrow road that ran parallel with the sea wall, he read the names of all of the side lanes that ran off of it, named after famous car brands Swift, Talbot, Wolseley, Sunbeam, Hillma, Morris, Bentley, Austen, Alvis, Humber, Riley, Essex, Vauxhall, Fiat Avenues. This patch of Jaywick was a conglomeration of chalets. Some were very well kept and maintaned, but some were rather shabby and built with prefabricated material. They had obviously been designed for holiday letting and were not really suitable for full time accommodation.

  When he had reached the end of Brooklands he sighted the food vending van, situated in an area set back where the road led down to the caravan site. Serving two customers was a thin, dark haired young man, who must be the elusive Danny Garcia. There was no real acess for traffic past this point, only down to the caravan site. Blumer muttered to himself, ‘At last Danny I’ve found you. Now where is Erma?’ He walked along the top of the sea wall and noticed that the caravan site was at about at sea level. He carried on walking until he reached the adjoining caravan site and turned back.

  When he reached the food vending van, he noticed Danny was shutting up shop. Perfect, he would hang back and follow him and see where he went and what he did. Danny slowly walked along Brooklands, looking forward all of the time. This allowed Blumer to close the gap between them.

  Danny then turned left into Brooklands Gardens and went into a pub called The Mermaid. Blumer waited five minutes then entered himself. The bar was packed soilid with people, enjoying themselves, talking, laughing and joking. He could not see Danny, so he must have gone to the upstairs bar. Blumer climbed the stairs and entered the upstairs bar. It was not as busy as the downstairs bar and he could see Danny right away standing at the far end of the bar, talking to a barmaid who obviously knew him. He ordered himself a pint of McEwens Export and went to sit at a table in the far corner.

  Danny’s attention was completely focused on the barmaid, who was talking and laughing with him. Perfect, he had not even noticed Blumer entering the bar. Danny certainly liked his beer, because Bl
umer noticed that he gulped down three pints in about twenty minutes. Eventually he said goodnight to the barmaid and headed for the stairs. Blumer, using some people as cover slipped away, without the barmaid seeing him. Fortunately Danny had stopped to greet a couple and Blumer made a ploy to enter The Brooklands Social Club opposite to The Mermaid. He waited for Danny to finish talking with the couple and then began to follow him again. At the end of Brooklands Danny turned left went into The Sheldrake. Again Blumer waited for five minutes before he entered the pub.

  Danny was already finishing his first pint and ordering another one when Blumer entered. This time he took up position at the far end of the bar and used the people lining the bar as cover, then ordered a pint of Worthington E. Again Danny drank another three pints in quick succession and Blumer wondered if he was either drowning his sorrows, or he was a fully fledged drunkard. Danny Garcia was not a bad looking boy, with olive skin, jet black hair and fine chiselled features. But as an aspiring criminal he had fallen short, from what Blumer had learned about him.

  It was just then that Blumer realised that he was being watched. He was being watched by a huge bear-like man, of over six feet. He tried to act as if he had not noticed the man, but the man started walking towards him. This was the last thing that he needed; to get into a punch up with a man mountain. He turned to face the man, as to make sure he was not going to get a surprise attack.

  The man simply looked at Blumer up and down, as if he was examining a peace of art work, then winked his left eye and said with a friendly Irish accent, “Well I’ll be. Please forgive me for intruding. But are you Detective Inspector John Blumer?”