“I never pick up if it’s a number I don’t recognize,” says Joyce. “I saw that onRogue Traders.”
“Very wise, Joyce.” Jason continues, “Then I came here for a quick drink with Pops, and I saw the man himself, Curran, arguing with Ventham.”
“Keeping all this quiet from me,” says Ron, and Jason raises his hand to acknowledge it.
“So after me and Dad had a couple of beers—”
“And me,” says Joyce.
“And Joyce,” agrees Jason. “After that, I went for a little drive, just to do a bit of thinking. Then I headed down there, Tony’s house, lovely place. Now, we were always cautious around each other, me and Tony—too many secrets—but I wouldn’t be at his front door without a reason. His car’s on the drive, so when there’s no answer, I think he’s seen me on his security anddoesn’t fancy a chat. And I didn’t blame him, so I rang the bell a few more times, and then I left.”
“And this is the day he died?” asks Joyce.
“The day he died. I couldn’t hear anything from inside, so I don’t know if that was before or after, or whatever. Anyway, home I go, and a couple of hours later I’m on this WhatsApp group.”
“A WhatsApp group?” asks Elizabeth, but Joyce waves her away, and Jason continues.
“A few of the old faces, and someone says Tony’s been found dead at home. I go cold, you know? I get sent the photo that morning, and Tony dies that afternoon. Which leaves me worried. I mean, I can look after myself, but Tony could look after himself too, and see where that got him? So I’m nervous, that’s natural, and then the police get wind that I’ve been to Tony’s, and they get records saying I’d rung Tony’s phone that day too. And next to the body they’ve got a photo of me. You can’t blame them—they think that stinks, and so would I.”
“But you didn’t kill Tony Curran?” asks Elizabeth.
“No, not me,” says Jason. “But you can see why the police think I did.”
“Their case is compelling,” agrees Ibrahim.
“And you’re here to see if we can find your old friend for you?” asks Elizabeth.
“Well,” says Jason, “the way my Dad tells it, however good the police are, you lot are better.”
There are quiet nods all around.
“And it’s old friends,” says Jason. “There’s the lad who took the photo too.”
“And who was that?” asks Elizabeth.
“Turkish Johnny, the fourth member of our little gang.”
“And he’s Turkish?” asks Joyce.
“No,” says Jason.
Ibrahim notes this down.
“He’s Turkish Cypriot, and fled back there years ago.”
“I know some good operatives in Cyprus,” says Elizabeth.
“Look,” says Jason. “You owe me nothing. Less than that. I’ve done nothing good here, and Tony never did. But if Bobby or Johnny killed Tony, then they’re still out there, and if they’re still out there, then why not me next? Again, not your business, I know, but Dad thought it might be up your street, and I’m not going to turn down the help.”
“So... what do you reckon?” Ron asks.
“Well,” says Elizabeth, “here’s my take. The others might disagree, though I suspect they won’t. This is a mess of your own making. And a mess that came from greed, and from drugs. And those are downsides for me. But there is an upside too. And that is that you are Ron’s son. And I believe you are probably right—I believe we can find Bobby Tanner and Turkish Johnny for you. Probably quickly. And whatever you’ve done, and whatever we might think of that, I would like to catch a murderer. Before that murderer catches you.”
“Agreed,” says Joyce.
“Agreed,” says Ibrahim.
“Thank you,” says Jason.
