The Crooked Beat by Nick Quantrill

the police?’
    I smiled. Don knew I would have no intention of doing that. ‘It’s not on the agenda.’
    ‘I didn’t think it would be.’
    ‘Niall’s got a family to think about.’
    He took the point. ‘Start at the beginning.’
    I told Don the whole story. I told him the missing cigarettes belonged to George Sutherland.
    Don nodded. ‘I know the name.’ His eyes never left mine. ‘What are you getting my daughter into?’
    The honest answer was that I didn’t know. But I also knew Sarah was tougher than he wanted to admit. If she wanted to be involved, neither of us would be able to stop her, not that I wanted to. I needed her help. Sarah walked back into the room. Don relaxed back into his chair, but he’d made his point.
     
    I had a plan in mind. Talking to Don had jogged an old memory. I knew where to go, so I was pleased Sarah had agreed to help Niall at the bar ahead of the opening. I wanted some time on my own to see where it would lead.
    Sarah broke the silence as we drove. ‘What did my dad say, then?’
    ‘Not much.’
    ‘He wanted me out the room for some reason, did he?’
    ‘He told me to leave Roger Millfield alone.’ It was my turn to ask a question. ‘Why is your dad doing this? I thought he’d decided to take it easy and enjoy his retirement?’
    ‘So did I.’
    We pulled up at a set of traffic lights. It didn’t sit right with me, but the problem I had was that I didn’t know how much I should tell her about her father. If it made me a coward, so be it. ‘We’ll sort it out,’ I said.
    ‘It’s not like him,’ she said. ‘I’m worried. He’s determined to shut me out.’
    The lights changed. I put the car in gear and changed the subject. ‘I told him about the cigarettes.’
    ‘What did he say to that?’
    ‘That I should go to the police.’
    ‘Ironic of him, I suppose.’
     
     

CHAPTER SEVEN
     
    I headed for Anlaby Road. If I wanted to know about Don’s enemies, I knew a good place to start. I’d promised Sarah I’d get to the bottom of it, and if the person who’d attacked Don was hired muscle, as I suspected, chances were they were going to come back.
    When I’d crossed Frank Salford in a previous case, myself and Don had spoken to an old police colleague of his. Gerard Branning had retired, but he retained an encyclopaedic knowledge of local criminality throughout the decades. He regularly drank in a one of the area’s pubs. I remembered that he went in there most days after walking his dog. I parked up and made my way in.
    I told the barman who I was looking for.
    ‘He’s not here.’
    I asked for a Diet Coke and told him to keep the change.
    ‘Last of the big spenders,’ he said, passing me my drink.
    ‘Have you seen Gerard recently?’
    ‘Police?’
    I shook my head. ‘He’s an old friend.’
    The barman took a moment to make his decision before shouting across to a guy practising at the dartboard. ‘What’s the name of that place Gerard went into?’
    The name of a care home was shouted back at me.
    ‘He’s been ill,’ the barman told me.
     
    The address I’d been given was in Hessle, a small settlement on the outskirts of Hull. I passed the Square and counted down the streets until I found the one I wanted. The place I wanted was at the bottom of a cul-de-sac. I’d been told Branning had undergone an operation. He had no family, so it was easier for him to recover away from his own home. I pressed the buzzer and waited. When it was answered, I said I was a friend of Branning’s. Nothing happened. I assumed she had gone to check with him. Eventually I was allowed in and shown to a day room. The place was surprisingly noisy. Alarms and bells constantly sounded, the smell of overcooked vegetables lingered in the air and staff rushed from room to room. Gerard Branning sat in the far corner of the room, next to the window. The care assistant who had shown me through left us to it.
    ‘Ridley’s partner?’ he said. ‘I remember