No Place to Hide. Jack Slater
Then Zivan released him. His feet hit the floor, knees sagging under him as Zivan swung a punch. It caught Pete in the shoulder, knocking him back into the press of people behind him. Zivan turned, pushing through the press of people towards the back door as Pete shook his head, trying to clear it. Pete was pushed forcibly from behind. He saw Zivan wading through the crowd like a bear up to his chest in water, leaving a seething mass of angered patrons in his wake. There was no way Pete was going to get through there after him. He turned the other way. He lifted his radio from his pocket and keyed the mike, hoping the others could hear him over the noise. ‘Ben, he’s coming your way,’ he yelled. ‘Dick, go and help him.’
Pete wove his way as quickly as he could through the tightly packed patrons and out into the cool and the sudden, blissful quiet. But he didn’t have time to pause and enjoy the contrast. He turned fast to the alley at the side of the pub and ran down it, hearing Dick’s footsteps ahead of him. Rounding the far corner, he saw Feeney helping Ben Myers up off the ground. Ben looked up sheepishly.
‘Sorry, boss. I nearly had him, but Christ! I’ve never come across a bloke as big as that. He legged it off up the alley, there.’ He nodded towards the narrow path that led through the small residential area and up towards the churchyard.
Pete cursed inside, but waved the confession away. ‘You OK?’ he asked.
‘Yeah, just . . . ego, more than anything, I suppose.’
‘OK. Too late to go after him now. I’ll go back in and have a word with the landlord. Maybe he can help. You two get off home.’
‘You sure?’ Dick asked.
Pete nodded and Dick shrugged. ‘OK. ’Night, boss.’
‘Sorry,’ Ben said again.
Pete pushed through the back door of the pub and went quickly up the short corridor past the toilets and the door to what he guessed was the upstairs accommodation. Back in the heaving bar, he eased his way through the tightly packed crowd. This time, he took more notice of the three men behind the bar. He quickly spotted the one he needed. He was older than the others by a good twenty years. Could probably give Pete ten, he guessed. His black T-shirt was stretched over a considerable beer gut, his thinning dark hair long and tied back in a ponytail.
Pete reached the bar right in front of him, pushing through between a guy in his mid-twenties, in a shirt and tie, and a young lad in denims. He slapped his fist down on the bar, wrapped around his police badge, and leaned in to shout. ‘I need a word, mate. Now.’
The man’s too-small eyes rose to meet Pete’s. He shrugged, waving at the crowded room around them.
‘Here or Heavitree Road.’
The man frowned sharply. ‘Upstairs.’ He turned towards the far end of the bar. Pete followed as best he could. As he eased through the tightly packed crowd, he thought, I bet the Health and Safety bods would have a field day in here with access points and so on.
The landlord waited for him near the rear door, then led the way wordlessly into the corridor and through the black-painted door marked ‘Private’.
The narrow, uneven wooden stairs led up to a corridor with several doors, only one of which was open, right at the top of the stairs. Pete saw a kitchen with a small table in the middle. The fat man led the way in and pulled out a chair.
‘So, what’s this about?’
Pete sat across from him. ‘Zivan Millic.’
The man frowned.
‘Big bugger I chased out of here a few minutes ago. Looks like a cross between a Neanderthal and a brown bear.’
The man grunted. ‘Didn’t know his name. What about him?’
‘I’ve got a witness telling me he deals drugs in here. Not that I’m interested in that, particularly. I’m also told he could tell me about a man I’m looking for as a witness in a murder case. Bloke known as the Armenian.’
The landlord went very still. His bulbous bottom lip disappeared briefly into his mouth and bounced back out again. ‘Never heard of him. The other one, I see in here sometimes, but that’s all.’
‘I never suggested you had heard of him,’ Pete said evenly. ‘I just want to know how to find Millic. And don’t tell me you only know him by sight. You wouldn’t put your licence at risk for someone you don’t know, even if he is as big as a bloody Portaloo.’
‘Look, I’m just trying to stay out of trouble. These old places, they’re like tinderboxes. I don’t want no so-called accidents like the Dolphin last year.’
Pete remembered the old pub, up near the cathedral, which had been burned out in a massive fire one night, several months ago. ‘What do you know about that?’
‘Only what the landlord told me. Somebody like Millic – not him, somebody else – was dealing in there. He threw ’em out. Few nights later, up it goes. Coincidence? He don’t think so, and nor do I. So, yes – I know what he’s up to. And, no, I haven’t reported it.’
‘Well, the only way to stop people like him is to help us put them away.’
‘Yeah, right. There’s no way you’d catch all of them. And as soon as they found out who shopped their mates, what do you think would happen?’
‘Look, I told you. All I want Millic for, for now, is a link in a chain that could lead to a killer who might be one of their customers. How can that do any harm? You tell me what you know, I can go talk to him, job done.’
‘Yeah, and where do you think he’ll imagine you got the information, eh? After you just tried to take him in here?’ The landlord shook his head. ‘No way.’
‘Well, where else does he go then? He’s not in here every night, is he?’
‘I’ve heard you can find him in the Blue Boar sometimes, up by the library.’
‘OK then. Any idea which nights?’
‘He’s not usually in here on Saturdays or Mondays.’
‘Right.’ Pete stood up, clapped the man on the back. ‘Thank you. Oh, by the way, do you get any coppers in here that you know of?’
‘Eh?’ He shook his head. ‘That’d be a bloody good mix, wouldn’t it?’
Pete shrugged. ‘Stranger things have happened.’
‘I suppose. But, no, not that I’m aware of. Why?’
‘If you did, I could ask them instead of you, couldn’t I?’ And, more to the point, if there was a link between the Armenian and anyone on the force, it had to have started somewhere. Here was as good a place as any to start looking for it.
*
Pete was struggling to eat his fish and chips. His mouth felt dry, the food curdling in his stomach. The TV was on at the far end of the room – some mindless rubbish, the volume turned down so that they could talk, though nothing was being said. Finally, the heavy silence was too much. He looked up from his plate. Annie was concentrating on her food, hoovering it up with relish. Louise’s head was down. She had eaten some, but her heart was no more in it than his.
‘I got some news about Tommy today,’ he said.
Annie’s head snapped up. ‘Where is he? Is he OK?’
‘I don’t know where he is, love. What I do know is, he’s alive. One of Simon’s team spoke to a shop assistant who served him in the Co-op on the Dunsford Road. She said he bought plasters and bandages. Claimed he’d fallen out of a tree or something.’
‘So, why hasn’t he come home?’
‘He must have been with Burton all that time. Maybe he thinks he’ll be accused along with him.’
‘But, he won’t, will he? He’s only a kid himself. He couldn’t do all those