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FRIENDS REUNITED by Mike Morris
DI Jacobs rose abruptly from his chair causing it to clatter against the wall
of the clinical interview room. He slammed his hands down violently onto the
tabletop. The sudden action jerked Keith Fenton from his mental lassitude and
back to the full realization that he was, for some reason in very deep trouble.
Jacobs made his way round to the other side of the table where Fenton was
sat. With a sudden burst of strength, he spun both the chair and the man around
to face him. Jacobs was now right in Fenton’s face, his nose almost
touching the other’s. Jacobs held Fenton’s stare. Jacobs’s eyes were brimming
with anger and frustration, the other’s filled with fear and confusion.
"Don’t – mess – me – about," the officer growled in a controlled, menacing
tone. "I – don’t – like – it." Sensing that he had Fenton intimidated, he coolly
picked up his chair and repositioned himself next to his colleague.
DC Michaels, for the first time during the interview, now chirped in. "Come
on, we know you’re involved, we’ve got all the evidence we need but we’re giving
you the opportunity to do the right thing and come clean. So come on, make life
easy for yourself."
Fenton said nothing.
DI Jacobs produced a photograph. "Is that you?"
"Yes."
"Could you tell me who the older gentleman is, the one vigorously shaking
your hand?"
"It’s my uncle, Harry Fenton."
"I see, Harry Fenton…"
Keith Fenton understood the tone in the officer’s voice and interrupted,
"Hang on a minute; I have nothing to do with them."
"You have to admit, you look very chummy in the picture."
"That’s a family thing."
"It always is with you Fentons. That’s what makes you so dangerous… Interview
suspended, 2.35am." DI Jacobs reached over and flicked the off switch to the
tape recorder.
The crash reverberated around Keith Fenton’s skull as the door to his small
claustrophobic cell slammed shut. Dropping to the hard bench he rested his
elbows onto his knees and his weary head into his cupped hands and he began to
sob uncontrollably.
*
Click, the driver’s door to the silver Fiat Punto readily caught the gust
of wind and shut fast.
"Argh, for – God’s – sake!" Keith Fenton raised his weary eyes aloft towards
his heavenly tormentor. "Come on; give me a break, please!"
Alison Fenton was surprised to be answering the door to her husband,
briefcase in one hand and a blue plastic, cut price booze carrier bag in the
other.
"Oh, hi babes, you’re home early! Where’s your key?"
"In the car," he grunted, pushing his way past his wife into the hallway. He
then stopped and turned towards Alison, "Sorry," he said, planting a meaningful
kiss on her cheek.
Keith opened his first tin of reasonably strong lager and gulped hard and
noisily almost finishing all the contents in one. Alison looked on, more than a
little concerned at her husband’s new drinking habits.
Keith wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Just what the doctor
ordered. Right I’m off to have a shower."
"Okay babes," said Alison. "There’s a clean towel in the cupboard. What do
you fancy for dinner?"
"Not bothered," he called back as he closed the bathroom door.
"Well listen, I’m not that bothered about cooking. I’ll call and pick up a
takeaway when I go to pick up the kids from school. Is that alright?"
"I can’t hear you, I’m in the shower! What did you say?"
"Nothing!"
"What?"
"Nothing!"
The bathroom door swung open. Keith stood at the top of the stairs with just
the flimsiest of towels covering his vulnerables. "Sorry love, what did you
say?" Droplets of water ran down his naked, slightly middle-aged spreading
torso.
Alison gave her husband a naughty grin. "I said we have a bit of time before
I have to pick up the kids from school."
Keith looked at her guiltily and sighed. "Hey, you know I would if I…You know
I do love you don’t you sweets?"
"Yeah, course I do." Alison turned and groaned inside. Even after 16 years of
marriage and three kids, she still fancied the pants off her husband and longed
for the intimacy that they once took for granted to return to their
relationship.
Later that evening and five tins of ‘Paul Weller’ later, Keith was well
chilled. Alison snuggled up close to him. The kids were upstairs thwarting the
dark side on their generic games console.
"You were home early today," she said casually.
"I just couldn’t take anymore Al. Told them I had a migraine. I hate that
place."
"But you’re good at your job." Alison consoled.
"It’s not the job as you know. It’s that prick, Andy. He hates me for some
reason."
"Because he knows you’re a threat to his position. Just hang in there babes.
It’ll pass, I promise."
Keith smiled, unconvinced by his wife’s reasoning. "Hey, I didn’t tell you
did I?"
"Tell me what?"
"Remember I told you that I signed up to that website, the one that helps you
trace people from the past that you’ve worked so hard to better yourself from
and to leave behind?"
"Oh yeah?"
"I had an e-mail today from a guy I grew up with at school, Jam."
"Jam?"
Keith sniggered. "Yeah, he had a terribly sad problem as a kid. Whenever a
girl or even a teacher spoke to him he would blush like there was no tomorrow,
you know, as red as strawberry jam. That nickname stuck with him all
through school."
"Poor kid, was he a good friend of yours?"
"Er, he was alright I suppose. A bit of a hanger on if you know what I mean.
He got bullied a lot."
Alison pulled herself away from Keith’s affectionate grip. "Where you going?"
he asked.
"I got the pictures back, from the anniversary do. Want to see?" Alison then
produced an envelope of 34 photos.
Keith flicked through. "Look at the state of them," he smirked. "I don’t know
about a family get-together, it’s more like a mafia who’s who."
"Give over. They’re not that bad."
"You don’t think?" Keith pointed at one of the shady looking characters.
"Uncle Harry. He only got out three months ago after a 15 year stretch."
"Well you know what they say? Can’t choose your family and all that. I
thought it was a great night. I’m going to have this one framed."
*
The e-mail icon flashed and the computer beeped indicating that Keith had
received new mail. It read, ‘Hey, wot u got planned tn8? How about some
proper catching up and a few beers? 6.30 in the Feathers yeah?’
Unfortunately the prick Andy was stood spying over Keith’s shoulder and couldn’t
wait to give him a hard time. Personal calls, e-mails, definitely a company no
no.
Keith tapped in his reply, ‘Why not? 6.30 it is.’
Alison cradled the cordless phone under her chin as she loaded the washing
machine. It was Wednesday and Alison rigidly stuck to her domestic routine.
Every Wednesday was the same; washing, drying, ironing, put the dinner on, pick
up the kids, finish dinner, eat, wash up, open bottle of wine and… relax.
"What time will you be home?"
"It won’t be that late, it’s just a catch up with an old mate over a beer or
two."
"What about the car?"
"Ah, that’s where my gorgeous partner in life comes in."
"Creep, what do you want me to do?"
"If I nip home during lunch break, can you drop me back at the office?"
"Possibly and I suppose you want me to pick you up from the pub as well eh?"
"No, not needed, we’re only going to the feathers. I’ll get a cab home."
"Do you want me to put a bit of lunch on?"
"Yeah, cheers babe. Love you."
"You’d better."
*
DI Jacobs stood over the dead body casting his seasoned eye around the crime
scene. Nothing looked out of place, very tidy in fact. Much tidier than his own
place he thought.
"Cause of death?" he asked the pathologist crouched at his feet.
The pathologist looked up and smiled. "I think the two bullet wounds to the
front of the head give us a clue don’t you?"
A fresh young WPC trotted across to them excitedly waving a wallet containing
the usual; credit cards, drivers licence. "I think we have an ID for the poor
sod sir."
Jacobs gave her a haughty look. "Oh I know we have an ID. And he
certainly isn’t a poor sod WPC…?" He stopped speaking so that the
blushing officer could inform him of her name.
"Mathews sir, WPC Matthews."
"Well WPC Matthews let me introduce you to Jonnie Leigh, better known as Jam,
the daddy of the notorious ‘Steamer’ gang. Since half the Fenton clan have been
put away this guy has gone from strength to untouchable. He controls all of the
East side. We’ve been trying to get this scrote off the streets for eons."
DC Michaels was searching the drawers of a solid oak writing desk. "Here sir,
look at this, it’s a diary."
"And?"
"Yesterday’s page, ‘Feathers, 6.30, Keith Fenton.’
Jacobs’s eyes lit up. "Fenton? Mmm…Keith? Not a Fenton I’ve dealt with. Check
him out and then get down to the Feathers. Find out if this meeting took place
and what happened?"
Jacobs had just hung up the phone when his younger colleague, Michaels
bounced into the small office. Jacobs watched him as he neatly spread his
raincoat over the radiator to dry.
"Well?" Jacobs asked.
Michaels consulted his little notebook. "The landlord was very helpful sir,
confirmed the meeting took place. Said Leigh was a regular, didn’t like him much
though and needed a good slapping as far as he was concerned. He’d never seen
the other chap before. Leigh came in about 18.05 and the other guy followed him
in at about 18.20. Had a few pints, sat in the corner, chatting and laughing,
both left about 20.30, never seen either of them since."
Jacobs looked at the clock; it was 11.45. He reached over to a large filing
cabinet and took out a plastic sandwich box.
His young colleague continued, "And you were right about Fenton."
"Really, in what way?" asked Jacobs, taking a bite of his corned beef and
tomato doorstop.
"Yeah, he’s the nephew of your old adversary Harry Fenton."
"Well well well."
"We’ve got nothing on him though, apart from a couple of misdemeanours when
he was a kid. He’s either been keeping himself clean or he’s very discreet."
"He’s a Fenton. Let’s go and have a word with him."
*
"Mrs Fenton, Alison Fenton?"
"Yes."
"Sorry to bother you. I’m DI Jacobs and this is my handsome colleague DC
Michaels. Is your husband Mr Fenton at home?"
"No he’s at work. Is anything wrong?"
"May we come in?" asked Michaels.
"Er…yes of course… sorry, please do come in."
The lounge was immaculate, hard to imagine that three young children lived in
the same house.
"Where does Mr Fenton work?" asked Michaels.
In the city, Branford’s, he’s an accountant. Their offices are on Cross
Street. Is Keith in any trouble? What’s he done? Is he okay?" Panic was entering
her voice now.
"It’s nothing for you to worry about Mrs Fenton. A friend of your husbands,
Jonnie Leigh was found murdered yesterday. We were hoping that Mr Fenton could
help us fill in a couple of missing pieces to our jigsaw that’s all."
Jacobs picked up the crystal-framed photograph from off the mantelpiece. "A
family party?" he asked.
"Yes it was a 25th anniversary."
"Could I borrow this? You’ll get it back."
Not knowing what else to do or say, Alison simply let the officer take the
picture.
*
Keith thought that Alison seemed extremely tense when he returned home from
work. He knew nothing of the visit from the police earlier in the day and didn’t
understand why his wife was behaving the way she was.
"Boys, I want you to go to your rooms please." She spoke with a firmness that
the children understood. "I need to talk to your father."
"What’s wrong babe?" Keith asked, frowning.
Alison looked deeply into the eyes of her husband. "Did you know Jam was
dead?" she asked.
Keith’s frown grew deeper but he didn’t answer.
"Did you know Jam was dead?" she asked again.
"No. How, when?" He put his hand to his forehead. "I… I don’t believe it. I
was only talking to him last night."
"He was murdered apparently."
"Murdered?"
"Two police officers came here today asking all sorts of questions about
you."
"About me? Why? What sort of questions?"
"They were hoping you could help put the missing pieces of their jigsaw
together, whatever that is supposed to mean."
Keith gulped heavily from his tin of lager. "I’m going for a walk."
"A walk, what, now?"
"I can’t get my head around this. I need some fresh air."
As Keith stepped from the house a white Mondeo pulled up sharply across the
driveway.
"Going somewhere Mr Fenton? DI Jacobs, this is DC Michaels. If you don’t mind
we’d like you to come down to the station."
"Yes I do bloody mind as a matter of fact."
"Well that’s a shame, if you’d just get into the car sir." Michaels loved
this part of the job.
It was 11.30pm. The Fenton’s house was in darkness. The boys were sleeping
soundly; unaware as to what was happening with their father. Alison sat in
silence, cradling a large scotch. Apart from the bottle of red on Wednesday
evenings she rarely drank and she detested whisky but under the circumstances
she felt she needed the numbness that it brought.
A sudden banging on the front door shocked her back to life, causing her to
jump and spill the contents of her glass over her lap. An army of police
officers filed through into the house desecrating her pristine home. Personal
belongings were strewn everywhere. Even the young children were not left
undisturbed.
"Did you find what you were looking for?" Alison snapped, trying to console
her three distraught sons.
"Sorry Mrs Fenton. I know this must be very upsetting for you but we are
investigating a very serious crime. Goodnight."
*
At 7.30am, Keith Fenton stood on the steps of the police station. His eyes
stung in the daylight and his head throbbed. He felt contaminated, made unclean
by the questions and the allegations.
A black 4x4 fired up across the street. It pulled away from the kerb as Keith
Fenton started his short walk to the minicab office. As the 4x4 pulled level,
the rear window rolled down. Five shots echoed through the empty street before
the vehicle screeched away and rounded the corner.
Keith Fenton lay in a pool of blood, the pump of his heart getting weaker
with every beat. Then it happened; his heart stopped altogether. Keith Fenton
was dead, Alison Fenton was a widow and three young boys were fatherless.
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