Saltaire Gold

Por Alan Hall

Unravelling a mysterious death from 1979 and two more recent killings in Saltaire requires all the emotional resources of two amateur investigators, as well as the skills of the professionals.....

• Idioma: Español
• Editorial: Upfront
• Fecha de lanzamiento: 18 dic 2020
• ISBN: 9781784567347

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Upfront Publishing

Saltaire Gold

Copyright © (Alan Hall 2020)

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No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by photocopying or any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage or retrieval systems, without permission in writing from both the copyright owner and the publisher of the book.

ISBN: 978-178456-734-7

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First published 2020 by UPFRONT PUBLISHING Peterborough, England.

An environmentally friendly book printed and bound in England by www.printondemand-worldwide.com

Saltaire Gold

Alan Hall

For Amanda

Chapter One

Saltaire Gold

When the doorbell rang again Julia went upstairs instead of going to the front door. Her legs were a little shaky, but she was composed enough to ring Alistair on her mobile phone.

I think he’s come back, she said, trying her best to stop her voice from wavering.

You’re sure it’s him?

Pretty sure, yes. I’m just going to look out of the bedroom window. Perhaps I can see him. She felt a bit calmer now that she’d phoned Alistair. At the other end of the line she could hear background noises. The pub must be quite full, she thought; late commuters on their way home from work probably.

Can you see him?

No, I can’t see my front door from here, but I know it’s him. He must have waited in the trees outside the gate until you’d driven off. You didn’t see him?

No. I thought I’d got rid of him. I told him not to bother us again and that begging door to door could get him into trouble with the police.

Hardly door to door. I think he just comes here to my house…

Whatever. Anyway, I’ll come straight back. Jeff will come with me, so if he’s still hanging around, we’ll deal with it. Don’t worry. We’ll be there in a few minutes. And don’t answer the door…

As if I would, she thought. It was her own fault, of course, and Julia blamed herself. She should never have taken pity on the man four weeks ago. His story had seemed so reasonable – just a couple of pounds to help him get to a relative’s house in Leeds, he’d said. She had not felt threatened by him at all. For a start, he was smaller than her and looked quite feeble in his scruffy jacket and woolly hat. She’d noticed that he seemed to have lost quite a few of his teeth, and that made it difficult to gauge his age, but she’d guessed he was probably younger than he looked. It had been a Tuesday when he’d first come to the door, and since then he’d turned up every Tuesday around half past six. After that first time she had resolutely refused to give him any money, even though he always had a plausible story – a job interview in Bradford the next day, but he needed bus fare; a couple of quid so he could get a burger from McDonald’s, because he’d not eaten all day – all the usual yarns people like him spin to get you to stump up some cash. He would probably spend the money on drugs - that’s what Alistair had said anyway.

And here was Alistair now, his car slurping through the puddles on the rough track which led from Julia’s house to the road. She went downstairs and into the garden just as Alistair and Jeff were getting out of the car.

Sorry about this, she said. Rotten of me to drag you away from the pub. She’d started to feel a bit like some woman from a bygone age, one of those who always needed a man around to protect her. That was not what she wanted to feel at all. She wanted to feel able to cope. Independent. And Jeff didn’t help, of course.

Glad to be of assistance to a lady in distress, he said in a deep voice, and with a smirk. That was typical of him. She didn’t like him at all, particularly the way he constantly made sexist remarks, plus his nasty habit of staring at her as if he was mentally undressing her. Meanwhile, Alistair had gone a little way up the footpath into the nearby clump of trees to see if anyone was hanging about.

No sign of anyone, he said when he returned. I thought we’d seen the back of him. He wasn’t expecting me to be here earlier, that’s for sure. Maybe I wasn’t firm enough with him when I answered the door.

You should have given him a punch. That’s what I’d have done. Jeff said, thwacking the open palm of his hand with his fist.

Oh, sure you would, Julia thought to herself. Then she said, I thought you being here at tea-time would do the trick, Alistair. I certainly didn’t think he’d hide in the bushes until you’d driven off. That’s the part that frightened me a bit; him hiding until you’d gone, then coming back because he knew I’d be on my own.

A vulnerable woman, living on her own, Jeff said, shaking his head. Perhaps Alistair should move in with you again, so that you’re properly looked after. Or if he can’t make it, I could always… he said, leaving the sentence unfinished. The leering smirk on his face said it all.

Not on your life, mate, Julia thought. I’d rather have the druggie-tramp bloke turning up every day than have you living here for a minute. Thanks all the same, but that won’t be necessary, she said with a frosty smile. Then she turned to Alistair. I’m sorry. I should have dealt with it myself. I’m a big girl now.

At this Jeff snorted, and Alistair put a solicitous arm around her shoulder. You’re sure you’re okay? he said. She gently unhooked his arm and moved away from him.

Want us to stay here with you? Jeff offered, with another smirk. Julia noticed, not for the first time, that he had two large perspiration stains on his shirt under his armpits.

No, no. Off you go back to the pub. I’m okay now.

Do you want to come with us? Alistair asked.

No thanks, I’ve still to pack. I’m off tomorrow afternoon.

Shall I pop round tomorrow morning?

What? To see if he’s broken in and murdered me?

You know what I mean, Alistair said, with just a hint of exasperation in his voice.

Sorry, she said. No. Maybe at the weekend, when I get back. I’ll text you.

Okay, Alistair said and started to get into the driving seat of his car. Seedy Jeff (she always thought of him as that) didn’t get into the car straight away; he stood looking her up and down for a few seconds, then he blew her a kiss. A moment later he was in the passenger seat and Alistair was driving his car away up the rough track towards the road.

Julia turned to go into her house. It was a beautiful late July evening, but as she walked up the path past the neat lawn, she gave a little shudder. Ugh! Two unwelcome visitors in an hour! Which was the worse – the unsolicited caller or Jeff? She almost shuddered again as she recalled Jeff’s brazenly lecherous stare. At least there had been none of that from her other visitor. And what about Alistair? Casting himself as some kind of heroic John Wayne figure didn’t suit him at all. She was beginning to think that it had been a mistake to invite him round just so he could be there to see off the unwanted caller if he turned up. And possibly it had not been the wisest move to phone him later when the guy rang the bell the second time – too much of the helpless little woman in it all, she thought. Damn! And Alistair would be bound to get hold of the wrong end of the stick, especially if Jeff egged him on. Julia was well aware that Alistair really wanted to move in with her again, but she was having none of it. It had been more than six months now, and she was increasingly certain that getting him to move out, just after that horrendous Christmas, had been absolutely the right thing to do. The problem was that he was inclined to use any old excuse to call round, and her actually inviting him today must have really raised his hopes. She’d known he wouldn’t have wanted to miss his customary Tuesday evening in the pub with seedy Jeff. But even though he wasn’t going to stay much beyond seven o’clock, he’d still found time to make a feeble semi-pass at her. And he’d tried to put his arm round her later on when they were standing by the car. Pathetic really, and she wondered what she’d ever seen in him, with his pedestrian lifestyle and his unaccountable friendship with Jeff. They’d been friends from their schooldays, apparently, but so what? That was one thing about Alistair she could never understand. She’d had friends at school too, and she even sent Christmas cards to one or two, but there was nothing like the regular-as-clockwork-half-pastseven-every-Tuesday thing Alistair had with Jeff. She’d hate that.

Once inside the house she made herself a cup of tea and sat down in the kitchen. Would the man come again? And why was it just her door he came to? After the first couple of unwanted visits she’d asked her neighbours if they’d been approached, but they hadn’t, nor had they seen anyone resembling the man in question. There were only two other houses nearby. Both were quite salubrious, as was her own, though one of them – the largest - was empty and had been on the market for several months. Julia was essentially a private person, and she’d kept her contact with the neighbours to a minimum, but she knew the elderly couple next door were a little puzzled by a woman living on her own in such a place, instead of in some bijou flat for single professionals. And naturally the drunken row with Alistair, which had unfortunately spilled over into the garden last Boxing Day, would certainly have aroused some comment, if the neighbours had witnessed it. Julia still blushed at the memory.

But all that was in the past. Alistair had packed his bags a few days later and gone to live in one of the chic apartments in Salts Mill, less than a mile away. Later Julia had learned that Jeff, already ensconced in his own flat at the mill, had been instrumental in helping Alistair to obtain a lease. Well, she thought, maybe Jeff had been a good friend to Alistair in a pulling-the-right-strings kind of way, but that didn’t stop her from disliking him, horrible little man with his smirks and smutty sexist comments. And his sweaty armpits, of course – maybe they were what really stoked her intensely negative feelings towards him. And contemplating that made her smile to herself.

She finished her tea and took the cup to the sink. She was beginning to feel more relaxed now. She went into her lounge and looked out of the window. There was no sign of anyone. Of course, there wasn’t.

*********

The house was between the Leeds and Liverpool canal and the River Aire, and when they had first moved in Alistair had spent some time fretting about the risk of it flooding. But the great flood of December 2015, when the river had burst its banks, had almost reassured him, for although many properties along the river had indeed been overwhelmed, their house, being on a rise, had escaped, and they’d realised then that the whole of Saltaire would probably have to be under water before the river encroached on their home. They were safe. Julia had never shared Alistair’s anxieties anyway; if the house flooded, so what? She would merely don her wellington boots and get to work with a mop and bucket. And now that Alistair had gone, and taken his silly anxieties with him, Julia had felt even more content with her lot. Or at least she had until the Tuesday evening visitations had started, for despite her desire for independence and self-sufficiency, some seeds of anxiety had been sown. After a time, these had bothered her enough for her to phone Alistair and ask him to come round and help her deal with the problem. And he’d agreed. Like a shot.

Opposite the house was a small area of woodland. It was there that the guy had probably hidden until he’d seen Alistair drive away. And there were indeed enough places to hide, for it was untended and nobody knew for sure who owned it. Not only were there plenty of mature sycamores and some ash trees which needed trimming, but at a lower level there were unkempt bushes of various kinds, mixed with brambles and nettles. The path which was supposed to give access was also overgrown, and it was difficult to see the spot where it divided, one part descending a gentle slope to the river; the other leading out of the wood to a sports field.

Out of curiosity Julia had, on one occasion, explored the wood. By then it was springtime and Alistair had been gone for several months, so she was unencumbered by a partner who would no doubt have expressed surprise and perhaps even some disapproval. Deep within the wood she had come across a discarded old bicycle with its tyres missing, and two rusty old picnic chairs, their canvas seats and backs rotted away. All three objects must have lain there, undisturbed, for several years. Even though Julia liked to think of herself as something of an environmentalist, she could see that there was really nothing to be reclaimed or recycled, so she left the objects untouched and walked on, slightly annoyed at the unknown people who, possibly years ago, must have dumped them.

*********

And it was precisely in that area, in early September, that two young boys, bored with kicking their football around on the empty sports field, discovered something else when they mounted an impromptu expedition into the small, dense wood. Trying hard to avoid the nettles and brambles which rather interfered with their progress, they made their way along the path and into the heart of the wood until they came to the place where, months before, Julia had discovered the rusty old bicycle and the two chairs. Those objects were still there, half-covered with weeds and mud. And there was something else lying quite near to them. At first the boys thought it was merely a pile of old rags, discarded like the bike and chairs by some fly-tipper of yesteryear, and they were inclined to ignore it and move on. But there was something which made the younger of the two (they were cousins) look more closely. A moment later, and without saying anything, he gripped his companion’s arm above the elbow and pointed. The older boy, ready to continue along the half-obscured path towards the river, turned towards his cousin to see what he wanted. Earlier he had picked up a stick which he had been using to beat his way through the undergrowth. Now he used his stick to prod the heap of old clothes. It didn’t move, of course, and it was partly covered by wet soil and vegetation, yet the two boys could clearly see that what lay before them in the grass and mud was not some discarded clothing but the body of a man. The two boys looked at each other for a few seconds, partly fascinated by their discovery, partly shocked and scared. Then, still without a word, they both turned and ran back, as quickly as the overgrown path would permit, away from the damp, gloomy wood and into the open air and safety of the sports field.

*********

Chapter Two

Saltaire Gold

For the second time that summer Charlie Ashworth’s granddaughter, Amy, had asked him to accompany her to see a play by William Shakespeare. Although he’d pretended some initial reluctance, he was secretly quite pleased. For a start, whilst he had a natural bloodrelated affection for his granddaughter, he also really liked Amy as a person, for despite the fifty year age-gap he found her to be an interesting companion, even though he needed her to repeat and clarify some of the teenage idioms she occasionally used.

Secondly, he was becoming something of a Shakespeare fan himself. At school, all those years ago, he’d found Shakespeare utterly tedious, but later in life he’d realised that was because Old Frogspawn (why did they call him that?) had been such a lousy teacher, totally uninterested in his pupils, let alone able to foster in them any love of English literature. Then, years later, and rather against his wishes, he’d been persuaded to go and see a production of Hamlet in Leeds, and after that he was hooked. He’d seen the actor who played Hamlet portray a tough detective in a TV crime drama and been suitably impressed - that was more Charlie’s kind of stuff. But here was the same bloke playing Hamlet, the most famous role in the theatre, and Charlie had suddenly realised, especially when the prince had laid a trap for his uncle using the strolling players, that Hamlet was in fact a crime drama! And a bloody good one! Old Frogspawn had never told them that, just as he’d never told them that Twelfth Night was full of knockabout fun. That had been a revelation for Charlie too; the first time he’d seen it he’d laughed like a drain.

And now he had a granddaughter who was really nuts about Shakespeare, to the point of wanting to study English Literature at university (uni she called it) and then teach it in schools. Charlie had to smile to himself when he thought of the huge gap between Amy and Old Frogspawn, the one a lively young woman, keen to share her knowledge and enthusiasm with young people: the other a clapped-out old bore with bad breath and a smoker’s cough.

So, he had gladly gone with Amy to see an outdoor production of Much Ado About Nothing in Saltaire’s Roberts Park. True, the play had been put on by a local group of amateurs, but it had nevertheless been of a suitably good standard, and the witty interplay between Beatrice and Benedict had been carried off particularly well. And then, a month or so later Charlie and Amy had gone to a matinee performance in York, where a full-size replica of Shakespeare’s own theatre, the Rose, had been built next to Clifford’s Tower. When Amy had described this as a pop-up theatre, Charlie had been unsure what to expect. Would it be made out of cardboard, like some kind of cut-out from the back of a breakfast cereal box? But no, it was a much more substantial affair, made of wood with steel scaffolding, and nearby were stalls selling food and beer, just as there would have been in Shakespeare’s time. Charlie was fascinated even before they sat down in the upper tier. Yes, it was all very authentic-looking, with a stage thrusting out into an uncovered space where the modern-day groundlings were already assembling. In Elizabethan times the groundlings would have paid one penny to stand there. Charlie surmised that their modern-day equivalents would have paid substantially more. And he and Amy were like the upper-class people of old, with seats that set them apart from the standing rabble – and paying even more for the privilege. Charlie wondered if there would have been a pong of unwashed bodies rising from the groundlings in Shakespeare’s day, and whether it would have got worse when it rained. As if to illustrate his thoughts there came a brief shower of rain, and the modern-day groundlings fussed about, hoisting umbrellas or donning expensive rainwear. If an aroma had drifted upwards towards Charlie’s nose, it would probably have been that of fragrant herbal shampoo and soap (ecofriendly, of course). But there was no smell.

The play was A Midsummer Night’s Dream, which no doubt accounted for the number of family groups in the audience. Although he would have