‘Once my anger calmed down a bit, I sat on the edge of the bed near my wife. Her head was caved in. There was no point in running. I knew someone would have called the police when her bloke fell out of the window. So, I lit a cigarette and waited for them to come and arrest me.’ Percy shrugged. ‘They said it was murder, but as I hadn’t gone to her house with the intention of hurting her or knowing she had a new bloke, they said it was the heat of the moment. In France, it would have been a crime of passion and I wouldn’t have gone to prison at all.’ He scoffed. ‘I was the innocent party in this Alex. It was her who was using and cheating on me. She was still collecting my wages and keeping that bloke and my hard-earned money!’ Alex could almost see the anger still bubbling in Percy when he thought about it. A chill ran down Alex’s spine, and he knew he wasn’t one to judge anyone, but, this was something else. He felt sorry for the friend who had given him his wife’s new address. He wondered how she felt all these years on.
‘I met some good mates inside, never had any trouble in the showers.’ He smiled and laughed at his own joke.
‘A bit like that bed and breakfast you stayed in I suppose.’ Alex could well imagine that Percy would take to prison like a duck to water. He wouldn’t have had to think for himself – or pay rent! The prisoners had probably looked after him and kept him in cigarettes.
‘Yeah, I didn’t mind prison, because of what I was in for. When I got parole on licence, the housing association came up with this place and I never looked back. My son has only just started speaking to me though. He blamed me for everything, but kids do that don’t they. I was an innocent victim in all of this though, Alex. I loved my wife.’
Seeing Percy had smoked his second cigarette, Alex handed him another one. Moistening his own lips with his tongue, he didn’t know where to start. When he had first seen Percy, Alex’s plan had seemed easy, but now he wasn’t so sure. He wondered if he would ever get this chance to ask him again though and decided to throw caution to the wind.
‘Actually Percy, this isn’t my business, but I’ve been asked to give you a message. It’s a bit cryptic, probably so I won’t understand it, but you might,’ Alex stammered. He couldn’t believe he actually felt nervous broaching the subject. ‘The message is from your friends. They said to tell you that they entered your house when they saw the fire and thought you were in there.’ Alex shook his head. ‘Then they said to tell you that they saw the hole in the wall and rescued some very expensive items that they think you will want to buy back…’ Swallowing hard, he waited for Percy’s response, which was much faster than he expected.
Percy’s eyes widened. ‘Who was it, Alex? Who said it?’ he pushed.
‘I can’t tell you that, I promised. I don’t know what it’s about, but if people want to sell you your old table lamps back or your war time medals, then the deal is there to be had. I’ve passed on the message and that’s it. The rest is up to you.’ Alex was about to walk away when Percy stopped him.
‘How do I contact these people, if I do want to buy these things back?’
‘I suppose I could always pass a message on if that was the case… you just let me know, Percy. Now I’ve got to go, the wife’s waiting.’ Alex cursed himself inwardly for that last sentence. What a stupid thing to say to a man who has just confessed to murdering his wife!
Wandering back into the pub, he saw through the open bar door that everyone was busy, and crept up the stairs. His mind was swimming with information and he needed to get his head around it. This bloody neighbourhood! This was supposed to be one of the posh parts of Kent and people paid a fortune to buy a house here. But scratch the surface and the people surrounding him were worse than he had ever known.
He had always mixed with criminals and there wasn’t anything he hadn’t come across, but they admitted what they were and never pretended to be anything else, including himself. But these people acted as though butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths. Good hard-working citizens. Yet, they were all Jekyll and Hyde-type characters with dark secrets of their own. It was unbelievable, Alex thought to himself, and he wondered if he should tell Maggie. Maybe not, he mused. Maybe he should leave that on ice until he found out if Percy passed his message on and if the Liverpudlians wanted to buy their cannabis plants back.
Slowly he was forming a plan in his mind of how he would deliver their plants, which he knew they would definitely want back. They must have been gutted once they realised they had lost everything. He still couldn’t understand why the helicopter had been flying over, which hadn’t been seen since. If the police were going to raid the place, it was to find the plants and the only person that had known they were there was Percy and the people who had put them there and wired up the electricity.
Trying hard to fathom it out, Alex realised it must have been Percy who had grassed up his mates to the police and had wanted to look innocent by going fishing. If those men ever found out Percy had informed on them, he would be dead meat!
Smugly, Alex sat back on the sofa. Being an informer was one secret Percy would never confess over a couple of cigarettes in the street! But Alex officially had Percy by the balls. He would have to do his bidding from now on.
13 MASTER PLAN
Almost skipping as he walked along the tiresome prison landings, Barrow saw them in a different light today. Suddenly walking along these landings held a new future for him. He was itching to get away while the breakfast was sorted and the prisoners made their way to whatever work or education classes they were assigned to. He looked up, almost to the top of the prison, or what other prisoners called the penthouse suite. Paul Pereira’s cell was up there, and he would be getting himself smartly attired for the day.
Walking up the staircase, Barrow made a mental note of the lackies leaving Paul’s cell. The shoe shiners, the runners so that he could place his horse bets, and of course the usual grovellers that were on hand should he need anything. Paul had built his own empire in prison and although officially the governor made all the decisions, it was Pereira who ruled the prison with an iron fist. No one crossed him.
Today, Barrow mused to himself, he would claim the bounty on Alex Silva’s head. Straightening his tie and making sure there were none of the other guards about, he knocked on Paul’s cell door and then walked in. He was shocked to see that Paul was being measured up for a new suit by one of the inmates, who used to be a tailor.
‘Got to look our best Mr Barrow, uphold the reputation of the prison.’ Paul grinned.
Clearing his throat, Barrow looked directly at Paul and straightened his own tie again. ‘If I could just have a word in private Mr Pereira?’
Feeling the importance in his manner, Paul brushed off the tailor and waved him away. ‘Come back later,’ he commanded. They both waited while he left, and Barrow shut the door.
‘Well, Barrow, what is it? If it’s about the investigation into the car park tragedy I’m not interested. You’re beginning to bore me.’ He yawned, emphasising his disinterest.
‘No, it’s not about that. But I might have something for you; that is, if I have heard you correctly. The man you say put you here – am I right in thinking his name was Alex Silva? A Portuguese man, like yourself?’
Intrigued, Paul looked up at him. This wasn’t the line of questioning he had been expecting. He had found Barrow to be a weak, spineless man who used his prison authority like some trophy badge. He came in handy, but now he was getting tiresome and greedy.
‘You would be right in thinking that Barrow. What of it?’
‘Am I also right in thinking there is a huge bounty on this man’s head? And something, dare I say,’ Barrow coughed nervously, ‘you would pay handsomely for information about?’
‘Whatever it is Barrow, spit it out. I don’t play games; surely you know that by now.’
Barrow stiffened before speaking again. ‘My wife works for an agency, working as a barmaid as and when, if you know what I mean…’
‘For crying out loud, I am not interested in your wife’s working day. What has it got to do with me?’
Barrow blurted out his winning hand. ‘Well, she worked for Alex Silva over the Christmas holidays!’ Seeing Paul’s stunned face, Barrow squared up to him. ‘But if you don’t want to know then I will keep it to myself.’ He turned and made to leave.
‘Officer Barrow, wait a minute.’ Paul’s thick accent seemed to get stronger suddenly. It was clear to Barrow that Pereira had been unnerved and was trying his hardest to cover it up.
Barrow turned and looked down at Paul. ‘So, am I right? Is there money to be made for information of his whereabouts?’
Slowly, Paul began to speak again, his eyes glancing furtively around the room, while trying to think. His mind was swimming with thoughts and the excitement at finding his arch enemy before his trial made his heart pound in his chest. He could scarcely breathe as he waited for the rest of the story. All he could do was nod his head in agreement.
Raising his eyebrows in a cocky manner, Barrow continued. ‘Does it have a lot of zeros on the end, Mr Pereira?’ Arrogantly, Barrow folded his arms and Paul nodded. This had certainly taken the wind out of his sails.
‘Well, he is here in England. He’s using his own name and he and his family are running a pub.’
‘And how do you know it’s him – my Alex Silva?’ Paul poked himself in the chest with his finger while he spoke, his anger rising. If this was some kind of joke or revenge for what Barrow had suffered lately at the hands of his workmates, he would gladly wring his neck himself.
Standing back, fearing he would lash out at him, Barrow decided to play down his information. Paul was notorious for his fiery temper, and he didn’t want to be on the end of it. ‘Well, Mr Pereira, there aren’t many men called Silva are there? Well, not in this country anyway sir.’
Hearing the respect in his tone, Paul nodded. ‘If your information is correct Barrow, you will be paid in full. But first I have to check it out. I am not paying for mistakes… do you understand?’
‘But if I give you his whereabouts, Mr Pereira, you will know where he is and I won’t get anything out of it. I want a retainer for my information, or I could get you photo evidence, if that would suffice?’
