No Place to Hide

NO PLACE TO HIDE

They were crouching behind a brick wall, the night air so cold that their breaths came out in smoke.

"There he is," Lucas Clark said, as a figure clad in a dark blue overcoat and woolen blue-and-white scarf appeared. He gestured to his brother, Micky. "Come on."

Lucas and Micky stepped out from their hiding place, their steps so silent that no-one could hear them. Lucas held an iron bar in his hand and brought it down so heavily on the man's head that he immediately fell to the ground in an unconscious help.

"Empty his pockets," Lucas ordered. Micky took the man's wallet and they both ran off into the dark.

                                                      *******

The man lay unconscious in a hospital bed, his head covered by a bandage. His wife and eighteen-year-old son sat by his bedside.

"I am afraid to say that there does not seem to be any improvement in his condition," said the hospital doctor. "He may have suffered brain damage. It is best that you go home now, Mrs Brown, there is nothing that you can do here."

Mrs Brown and her son slowly made their way out of the hospital. A few days passed and there was still no improvement in the condition of Mr Brown. He died some days later.

                                                               *******

"One hundred pounds," Micky said. "That is all the stinking miser had on him. One hundred pounds."

"But for us, he had nothing," said Lucas.

Mr Brown had been their boss. They worked in construction and had often cheated them with their wage. After a few months of delay in paying them properly, Lucas and Micky decided to take matters into their own hands.

"We will have to get out of here," said Lucas. "They usually suspect those who knew him."

They sold their flat and moved into leafy Hertfordshire. They bought a shop selling cards and toys, called it "Lucas' Cards and Toys" and, while sociable enough, kept themselves to themselves. They were never seen at the local pub nor did they take part in any countryside events, but they blended easily into their surroundings and aroused no suspicion. In fact, after a while, the two even began to forget about the heinous crime that led them there.

                                                            *******

Detective Brian O'Neill poured over the case. A man walking his dog in the morning had found Mr Arnold Brown unconscious, with serious head injuries and had called an ambulance. Other than that, he had no other leads. No-one had seen who had attacked Mr Brown.

"Strange," muttered Detective O'Neill. Usually, people were attacked by those whom they knew. As Mr Brown had been middle-aged, it was unlikely that it had been a love triangle gone wrong. It was more likely that he had upset someone at work or was involved in some kind of swindle.

Constable Jennings walked into the room. He was a serious, thin, dark-haired young man. He placed some documents on the detective's desk.

"This is a description of two men seen lurking around that area on the night of the murder, sir," he said. "I hope this helps."

The detective looked at the script. It described two men of average build, dressed entirely in black. It was night time, the report said, light was poor and it was impossible to give any other information other than the fact that they seemed to be dressed in black.

The detective sighed. The report was not much help, but it did not do to rebuke Constable Jennings. He was only working on what he had been told by a witness. There had no doubt been a witness to describe those men's appearances, no matter how vague they were, but the witness had declined to report the crime in person. He had only phoned the police station.

"Thank you, Constable Jennings," the detective finally said. The constable left the room.

                                                                  *******

"I bet that it was someone at work that killed him," eighteen-year-old Martin, Arnold Brown's son, told his mother at breakfast six months after Arnold's death.

"Most likely," Ruth Brown agreed, but could not think why. Arnold had always come home cheerful, never complaining about any work problems. He got on well with his partner and workmates. In fact, he loved his job.

The conversation ended. Martin wanted to find out who had killed his father and get them jailed, but he would not tell his mother. She would not hear of her son going into what she considered "dangerous territory." Besides, he had only recently started work as a trainee roofer. Money was tight and there was no time to waste acting the detective.

                                                             *******

David Marsh sat at his table, looking at job advertisements. He had recently been made redundant from his job as a fireman and was bored sitting at home.

He had always been interested in crime novels. He would spend hours sitting in his room reading the likes of Agatha Christie and other detective novels. His younger brother, Andrew, would tease him because he preferred to sit in his room reading instead of playing football with him. Andrew left home at the age of twenty-one, married at twenty-two and was now, at the age of thirty-five, the father of two boys, while David was still single and living alone in a hired flat. He smiled as the memory of his mother came to him: "You read so many crime novels that you could become a detective one day" and he had nodded seriously.

The case of the murdered Arnold Brown had received a lot of newspaper coverage. Some DNA had been found on the body but it did not seem to match anyone. Without any proper description of the criminals, the police were no nearer catching them than they were when Mr Arnold was first found, unconscious.

David went to the local police station. The sergeant at the desk looked enquiringly at him. Despite himself, David began to feel nervous.

"You have no doubt heard of the recent case of Arnold Brown, the man murdered by two thugs, sir," he began, his speech somewhat hurried by nerves. "I wonder whether you would consider hiring an undercover detective to solve the crime."

The sergeant looked carefully at David. He seemed neat enough to be recruited into the police force immediately, but being an undercover detective was not that easy. He would have to have a good alibi and a good disguise.

"It comes with risks, you know," the sergeant said. "You had better have a good excuse for being where you were. There is a good chance that those who had murdered Mr Brown had left the area. they may have even fled the country, for all you know."

"I realize that, sir," David said, still nervous. What a fool I am, he thought, getting myself into something that I know nothing about, something that could take ages to solve and might even endanger me in the process, but he did not have the courage to chicken out. Instead he gave the sergeant his full name, address and phone number and was told to report for work the following morning.

The following morning found him poring over the work computer. "Arnold Brown & Co" was the name of the construction firm that Mr

Brown had run. Its offices were in Dagenham. There were a phone number and e-mail address listed. David dialled the phoned number and sent off an e-mail. There was no reply at the telephone and the e-mail bounced back.

"Damn," David swore under his breath but did not give up. Dressed casually, as if calling to visit a friend, he caught a bus to the street in which Arnold Brown & Co were situated. The building looked unscathed but, on ringing the doorbell, there was no reply. He looked around. There were a few houses in the vicinity. Maybe someone knew the two murderers.

He rang the doorbell of a small house with a neatly kept garden. A dark-haired woman dressed in a slightly old-fashioned dress answered the door.

"Yes?" she enquired.

David decided to play his cards close to his chest.

"I was a friend of Arnold Brown's, whose murder was covered by the newspapers," he began, "and I know that he worked over there," he pointed at the now empty office. "Would you know who else worked there?"

She looked at him as if he had gone crazy. He decided to rephrase the question.

"I mean, did you ever see him with anyone else?"

"If you mean a smallish, middle-aged man, I often saw him talking with two younger men, ordinary looking in jeans and T-shirts. They looked pretty ordinary to me."

"Could you please describe them?"

Are you a policeman, she wanted to ask, but did not. Instead she said:

"They were both thin and dark-haired, about thirty years of age, the other looked similar but somewhat younger. I have not seen them for a while, though."

"Thank you," David said and returned to the police station.

*****

"So we know that they were both thin and dark-haired, but we do not know where they went to," the sergeant got up from his desk and started walking around the room. "Not much good, is it?"

 

"No, sir," David was frustrated by his own inadequacy, yet he could hardly have asked the woman where they had got to. She did not really know them.

They searched the computer again and visited the "Companies House" website. David typed in "Arnold Brown & Co."

A list of partners with their home addresses appeared on the screen. David almost shouted with delight.

He contacted the first one. His name was Simon White and was happy to give out some information.

"I remember Lucas and Micky Clark, right troublemakers they were. Couldn't stand them. They often talked about retiring to the countryside. Hertfordshire, they liked."

"Do you think that they are there now?" David asked.

"There is a chance. I haven't seen them since Mr Brown was murdered. Their disappearance proves their guilt. You could try them there, if you like."

"Thank you," David said, relief flooding him. He informed his sergeant, who told him to disguise himself as a cleaner for the Clark brothers.

On the following morning, David dressed in his tattiest jeans and sweater and drove to Hertfordshire. The quiet remote village fascinated him but he remembered that he was on a mission to arrest criminals there, not to spend a holiday. There was a shop called "Lucas' Cards and Toys" which caught his attention. Apparently, it was the only shop open in the sleepy area.

David walked in. To his relief, there were no other customers around. He got straight to the point.

"I would like to apply for a job as cleaner," he said.

Lucas and Micky Clark looked relieved. For months, they had been looking for a cleaner for their shop as they hated the idea of they, the bosses, being seen dusting shelves or washing floors. Lucas named a price and David nodded.

"There's more," he said. "I have been looking at the website of Companies House and discovered that you and your brother murdered Arnold Brown, your former boss."

Both brothers blanched.

"I contacted one of the partners, who informed us where you were. I am hereby arresting you for the murder of Mr Arnold Brown. Hand over the keys." He ordered and locked the shop, then called the police. They came within minutes.