Chapter 3

Preston. Two weeks later

“There’s been a guy asking questions.”

“Oh?” The response was almost dismissive, the speaker barely acknowledging the person he was talking to as he continued to read the document on his desk, scribbling the occasional note on it.

“Asking about Nik Griffin and the BNP. He was trying to link it to the Truth And Freedom Party.”

The person seated put down his pen and looked up.

“When was this?”

“About two weeks ago?”

“Why are you asking me? Either it was or it wasn’t. So when was it?”

“Um. About two weeks ago. It were a Saturday. I know that ‘cos he caught me coming out of the match.”

“What?”

“I was coming out of Victory Park. I remember that ‘cos Chorley had just got an unexpected, and frankly quite undeserved draw. The main bar was crowded so I had to take him into the private bar. That was the last weekend in April.”

There was a sigh. “What is your name?”

“Gerald Greengrass. Gerry.”

“Occupation?”

“Sports writer. Journalist.”

“And why are you telling me this?”

“Well,” Gerry paused. He had gone to see a friend about this, someone high up in the local BNP. That friend had directed him here.

“I was told you should know.”

There was another sigh. “And how old is your informant?”

“Oh, he wasn’t an informant, he was, he was someone I used to know.”

“Friend then.”

“No. Not a friend. Not exactly. More a long time aquaintance.”

“So why did he tell you?”

“He didn’t. He was asking me as a reporter what I knew.”

“And you told him what? Exactly.”

“Nothing.” Gerry was feeling rather uncomfortable now. The smallish man in front of him with his pebble-lense glasses seemed cold and clinical. Devoid of human warmth. Devoid, in fact, of any personality.”

“So what,” began the man, whose name Gerry still hadn’t been able to determine.

“I just said I’d investigate.” Gerry’s hurried interruption didn’t seem to phase his interlocutor.

“And what did you investigate?” The man’s voice seemed to have got icier.

“Well, nothing. I basically already knew.”

“And you say this was two weeks ago?”

“Yeah, the last Saturday in April.”

“And you’ve only just said something now? Why is that?”

“Um. Well, I wasn’t certain who to talk to. I asked someone in the party,” he didn’t need to say which party, both men knew he was referring to the all but defunct British National Party. “They said come here.”

The response was a glare.

“In any case, he’s over seventy and I didn’t think it mattered that much anyway.”

“Over seventy? Oh. So now you’re wasting my time. Go away.”

“He were in the army.”

The cold face came up again fast. “What?”

“He was in the army. Him an’ his mates.”

“Which regiment?”

“Dunno. He doesn’t like to talk about it. Says it’s private.”

“Secret?”

“What?”

“Did he tell you it was a secret?” The question was asked in a slow and deliberate manner, as if to a child. Or a drunkard. And that, Gerald realised to his shame, was what this man was seeing him as.

“No. Just said he didn’t want to remember.”

“Interesting. His name?”

“Ted Eckersall.”

“Edward Eckersall?”

“Uh, yes. And Bill, er, William Sharples. There’s another couple o’ guys as well, but I’m not sure what their names are. One might be called Tommy. Or Jimmy. Not sure.”

“Were they all in the army?”

“I think so, yes. I’m sure they were. I know one of them is married to Ted’s, er, Edward’s sister.”

“Which one?”

“Not sure.”

“And her name?”

“Patty. Patricia I guess, but I’ve never heard her called anything else.”

“And where did you say this happened?”

“Victory Park.”

“And what and where is Victory Park?”

Gerry looked shocked. Well this was Preston, maybe ten miles from Chorley, but surely any local would have heard of Victory park.

“Um. You know. It’s the football ground? In Chorley?”

“Why would I know that?”

“Um. Ah. Oh.”

“Football is a game for morons and the brain-dead. It is the sporting equivalent of lager, soap operas and talent shows for the talentless. It is played by overpaid lawn-fairies who between them don’t have two brain-cells to rub together. So I ask again. What on Earth makes you think I would know what or where Victory Park was?”

“I’m sorry sir.” Where did that ‘Sir’ come from, Gerry wondered in the back of his mind. He was too busy panicking at the cold mien in front of him to think much about it though. “I’m afraid I just assumed that as a local you would at least have heard of it.”

“Local?”

Gerry knew he’d made a bad mistake. He didn’t know quite how bad, just knew it was a mistake. “I’m sorry sir. I just thought you should know of people asking about Truth And Freedom.”

“Very well. If any of them contact you again, ask you about anything, just tell them you can’t find anything out. There doesn’t seem to be any story. Then come back and ask for me. Understand?”

“Uh. Yes. Uh. Sorry, who are you?”

The face seemed to get colder. He reached into a box on the desk and handed over a card. “Go away.”

Gerry didn’t look at the card until he was out of the office. “Andrew Stott. Senior investigator” was all it said, along with a London telephone number. He put the card into his pocket, slightly troubled. Ted was a friend. Ted had helped him, Gerry, many years ago when, as a teenager, he had got into a bit of bother. Ted had helped him out stood up for him when his own father, a real drunkard and alcoholic, wouldn’t. They had been friends ever since. Casual friends, but friends nonetheless.

Even so, Gerry thought, Ted was really asking questions where he shouldn’t. Poking his nose into things that didn’t concern him. He wanted to warn the older man off, but didn’t know how to do it. Fobbing him off was probably safer all round. Yet Gerry was unconvinced even that would be enough.

If he doesn’t say anything, I won’t, Gerry decided. And if he’s only casual about it, maybe I’ll just wave it off as a nothing story. His mind skittered away from what he would do if Ted was more insistent.

He smiled as he remembered back to his youth. Back then he’d had a bit of a crush on Patty, though at twenty-one she was almost eight years older than his fourteen. “Oh yeah,” he muttered aloud. “That was not long before Patty went and joined the army as well.” He thought about turning back to go and tell Stott of this, but his legs just seemed to want to keep walking away from the small, cold man as fast as they could take him. Gerry decided not to fight it and instead went straight to a favoured local pub.

Stott watched Gerry leave the office, a frown on his normally impassive face. Was this what his job was becoming? Watching old friends inform on each other? And a mere clerk noting it down?

On the other hand, Stott mused, old soldiers? Maybe 70’s was a bit too old to worry about. It was the fifty-year-olds that Stott was far more concerned about, maybe the early sixties, old enough to have retired from the military, but young enough to still have energy, the drive and maybe more importantly, the contacts.

No, Stott decided, this wasn’t worth his efforts. He would file it and make sure it wasn’t completely forgotten about, but it wasn’t important enough to follow up.

He looked at his watch. Two hours until he could leave the office and go back to his hotel. He shuddered. It would be at least four or five hours before he left. The hotel was horrible, he hated it, small, cold, dark; more a Bed and Breakfast place with a chatty landlady. The very sort of person he really hated, but was sometimes able to get a lot of information out of. This one however was just frivolous: all she ever seemed to talk about was Emmerdale and Coronation Street. Stott shuddered again in horror. Something would be done about it. He hated Preston. No decent restaurants, too many foreign restaurants. Too many Chinese, Indian, Italian and worst of all to Stott, American burger and pizza bars. Pub food again this evening then, Stott once again shuddered at the thought.

Tomorrow evening he would be going back home though. Stott hated being out of London. These small provincial towns gave him the creeps, but it was part of his new job to go around such places to make sure they were doing their jobs properly.

And he loved his job. He wondered whether his twin brother was having similar problems. Probably, he thought. The two brothers had very similar likes and dislikes.

Gerry was careful to keep well clear of anywhere he thought Ted was likely to be, but Chorley isn’t that big a town. Even so, it was nearly ten weeks before Ted and Gerry bumped into each other again.

“Gerry!” Ted’s hand came down on Gerry’s shoulder, making Gerry almost leap out of his skin with fright. “By ‘eck lad, th’art frightened o’ summat?”

“Sorry Ted. You just startled me.” Gerry glanced around, to Ted looking for all the world like a cornered animal looking for an escape route.

“Sorry lad, just haven’t seen you for a while. You okay?”

Gerry managed to get his heart rate and breathing mostly under control, and looked at his old friend. “Yeah. Look, if you’re after information, I looked into it and couldn’t find anything.”

Ted, who had all but forgotten about his request to Gerry over two months earlier, looked at him blankly for a moment. Then he remembered.

“Oh don’t worry about that lad.”

Gerry’s relief was almost palpable. Ted saw it but ignored it, filing it away for future examination. “Yeah,” gasped Gerry. “There’s nothing to it. Sorry.”

“Okay,” replied Ted lightly, knowing beyond doubt that Gerry was lying. “No worries. I’ll see you around some time.” He turned and walked swiftly away, wanting to get as far from Gerry as possible.

“If he’s gonna be that blatant a liar, and to me, then there’s very definitely something amiss,” Ted told Joe an hour later, having filled Joe in on his relationship with Gerry. Ted had gone almost straight to Joe’s, spending twenty minutes just ensuring he wasn’t being followed. Patty was out shopping, so Joe was on his own.

“Steer clear of him,” Joe said after a few moments thought.

Ted smiled and nodded. “My thought as well. We should let people know that it’s possible he can’t be trusted.” He paused. “I don’t think he’s a nark, an informer,” he added after a few moments thought, “but I don’t think we can rely on that. Not for too long.”

“No. Maybe that’s only you though. You are friends. Maybe you have some protection. But only if you don’t push it.” It was Joe’s turn to pause. “Do you think,” he said slowly, “he could be used, unwittingly, to pass false information?”

Ted squirmed inside. He’d known Gerry for a long time and liked the man. Why he had now turned towards darkness Ted didn’t know, but he was still uncomfortable with the thought of using him. “Maybe. Perhaps,” he said after a while.

Joe nodded. He could see Ted’s discomfort, and understood it. “Okay. Let’s not worry about that now. It’s maybe something for the future. If we need it.”

Ted nodded, not really relieved. He could see the sense of Joe’s proposal, understood it, even agreed with it, but he didn’t truly like it.

Gerry, however, had panicked. He had gone straight to his favourite bar and had thrown back two neat whiskys.

“Mister Greengrass? Please can you accompany us?”

The voice was soft, almost pleasant. But when Gerry looked up, the face that went with the voice was anything other.

“Um. What? Why? Where?”

The face smiled. Maybe to someone else it might have seemed a kind and even pleasant smile, but Gerry was frightened almost out of his wits. To him it looked ferocious, an evil grimace. “Don’t you worry about that sir. Everything will make sense.”

Gerry was too scared to resist, yet knew in a tiny corner of his brain that maybe, if he didn’t resist, there would be consequences that he would definitely not like. But still he was too scared to resist. He rationalised it to himself by telling himself that he was waiting for a better opportunity.

The two men led him out to a car, a nice looking, expensive looking, car, and gestured to him to get in the back seat. He did so, expecting to meet Andrew Stott, or someone worse. Instead there was no-one there. He settled in, uncertainly, while the two men got in the front.

“If you open the seat rest to your left,” said the front seat passenger, “you’ll find a drink.”

Gerry shook his head.

“Seat belt please sir,” the driver, in front of him said.

Gerry did so, and only once a light on the dashboard had gone out, did the driver let out the clutch and pull very smoothly off. Although the drive was smooth, the acceleration was high, and Gerry gripped the door handle very tightly with his right hand.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like a drink sir?”

Gerry nodded, yet at the same time, expecting it to be water or soft drinks, opened the lid of the seat rest to find a complete mini-bar. There was a Glenlivet and a Laphroaig single malt, along with a Chivas Regal and a Famous Grouse, both blended whiskies. Gerry’s eyes lit up. He wasn’t a big one for single malt, finding most of them pretentious, but he did like Laphroaig. The Chivas Regal however was one of his all time favourites.

He twisted the cap off and poured himself a generous slug. Not bothering with the ice or soda water, both of which were also in the bar, he drank down the first shot, then poured himself a second.

From the front of the car, the passenger had been watching him discreetly. Almost as soon as Gerry started to bring the glass to his lips to drink the second drink, the man turned around and almost snatched it from Gerry’s unresisting hand. Gerry was already asleep. “No you don’t” the man muttered softly, more to himself.

“So much easier this way,” murmured the driver pulling the car smoothly into the side of the road. The car paused just long enough for the passenger to open his door and pour the drugged drink away, before pulling smoothly off again.

Gerry awoke in what appeared to be a hotel room. It was not a particularly luxurious room, when he checked what appeared to be a mini-bar, all he found was some small milk sachets. On the top was a mug, some sachets of instant coffee, likewise of sugar, and some tea bags. There was no kettle. He frowned. He hadn’t a clue where he was. When he looked out of the small window, all he could see was what appeared to be an inner courtyard with a delivery van, and beyond that more buildings, obviously part of the same building complex he was in. There was nothing to give him any clue to his location, though he assumed he was still in Preston. Looking at the other windows, he guessed he was on the fourth floor. He pondered for a moment. The ground floor windows actually looked more like office windows, what he could see of them, the three floors between him and the ground floor were all frosted glass and could have been anything, It was only on this floor that the windows were clear again, but they were all darkened, with no signs of life.

Looking up the sky was a dark blue, obviously well into evening.

Below him the van drove off through a small gap to his left. He couldn’t tell where it was going, but it looked like a laundry van. His stomach growled and he realised he was hungry. Checking his watch he discovered it was a little before ten pm. “No wonder I’m bloody hungry,” he muttered. He frowned. It was barely three when he had been picked up by the two men. “Seven fuckin’ hours.” For some reason Gerry felt angry, but it was a false anger to hide his fear, which hadn’t gone away.

He was about to leave when he realised he didn’t have any shoes on. It was when he went to put them on that he realised he couldn’t find them anywhere in the room. He frowned. Where the hell are my shoes? he wondered, somewhat annoyed. He didn’t think it odd that he was more concerned about missing shoes than where exactly he was.

He left the room, or tried to, as the door turned out to be locked and there appeared to be no way of unlocking it. Now his fear from earlier reappeared. He considered banging on the door, but was now far too scared to do much more than contemplate it. He sat on the foot of the bed and just hunched in on himself, shivering despite the heat in the room.

He didn’t have to wait long though, two or three minutes at most, but even in that short time Gerry had sunk in on himself, barely able to function, almost too scared to be scared.

“Follow me please,” the voice penetrated slowly into Gerry’s fog of despair. It didn’t sound particularly harsh, just uncompromising.

“Where’s my shoes?” Gerry asked after a few moments.

A pair of soft slippers were tossed in his direction. “You don’t need them, but here. Put these on.”

Gerry was led down to what turned out to be a conference room. Seven other men were in there, sitting around a U shaped table. There was another, empty, table against the wall, but apart from a pile of chairs, the room was otherwise bare. Most of the current occupants looked up at him as he came in and Gerry could see that none of them knew what they were there for any more than he did.

“Don’t suppose you know what the fuck is goin’ on do you?” asked one of the others.

Gerry shook his head, nervously.

“Nah, didn’t bloody think so. I’m Alec, by the way. Alec Schofield.” His accent was broad Scouse. There could be no doubt in anyone’s mind he was from Liverpool.