***
The barman at the Stag Hotel knew two things very clearly. One, he hadn’t seen Jacob Wolfenden for a couple of days, which was unusual. And, more importantly, you did not say more than you needed to, especially to police officers.
The last time he’d seen Jacob in the pub was before Palmer had reappeared, although he had seen him briefly on the other side of the road. Jacob hadn’t seen him and had moved away, following Palmer, or at least that’s what it seemed to be.
He wasn’t sure what to do. If he told Inspector Hill, a man who clearly liked a pint of beer, that he suspected that Jacob Wolfenden had come to some harm, he’d be forced to explain why. He’d have to say what Palmer had wanted and why Jacob wouldn’t tell him. How he had told the inquisitive man to leave well alone and to mind his own business. He was a barman, and he had heard the rumours about McIntyre; who hadn’t.
‘Sorry can’t help you there,’ he said, as Larry passed over a photo of Bob Palmer.
Larry looked around the bar, formed an opinion. It wasn’t his sort of place, although it sold one of his favourite beers. It had been some time since he had tasted alcohol, and the smell of it still raised an emotion in him. He wanted to grab hold of the barman, to down a pint.
‘Why are you sweating?’ Larry said.
‘It’s hot in here. I just brought up a barrel; it’s hard work.’
‘I’ve been around the area, asked a few questions here and there, spoken to one or two friends.’
‘Informers?’
‘People who keep their ear to the ground. Those that understand that a friendly policeman comes in handy, especially when they’re serving underage drinkers.’
‘I can’t help you.’
‘Even if you knew something, you wouldn’t tell me either. Is that about the sum of it?’
‘Sometimes I hear things, barmen always do. I’ve learnt not to take it in, to let it pass through from one ear to the next.’
‘I can understand people not wanting to talk. It’s not that simple, though.’
An old man walked into the pub and over to the bar. ‘A pint of your best,’ he said. He looked over at Larry. ‘One for you?’
‘Thanks, but not today.’
‘You’ve got it wrong,’ the old man said. ‘Alcoholic? I’m Fred Wilkinson, by the way.’
‘Yes, I am.’ It was the first time Larry had openly admitted the fact.
‘What is it? Stress at work, the wife giving you aggravation, the children answering you back. We’ve all gone through it, turned to the drink, tried to forget, just another one for the road. It doesn’t help. All you get is more aggravation, end up losing your home, the respect you once had.’
‘The wife and the children are fine,’ Larry said.
‘What are you? Accountant, engineer?’
‘I’m a police inspector, Challis Street.’
‘Fair enough. Plenty of stress, villains you’d rather not have to deal with, sights you’d rather not see.’
Larry pushed the photo across to the old man. The barman looked on anxiously.
‘It won’t do you any good. One or two pints of a night does no harm. You’re a police officer, used to self-control.’
‘Give me a half-pint,’ Larry said. Maybe the old man’s right, he thought.
‘He’s familiar. I’ve seen him in here.’
‘We need to find him. Any help would be appreciated.’
Larry put the glass to his mouth, took a sip. He put it back down on the bar.
‘You’ve got to learn how to control yourself.’
‘In the meantime, the photo.’
‘He upset Jacob; I know that. I could hear him tell the photo to leave well alone. Stormed out of the place, did Jacob. Usually he sits at the bar or on his own, drinks a few pints and leaves.’
‘What happened after that?’
‘The photo came back up to the bar, sat on the chair you’re sitting on,’ Fred said. ‘Just about the only excitement that night.’
Fred looked over at the barman. ‘You must remember what the man said.’
‘Withholding evidence is a crime,’ Larry said. ‘I’m from Homicide. A couple of murders so far. We don’t need another one.’
‘He was a nuisance. I told him to get out. I had customers to serve, and he’s getting in the way. I said to him that if Jacob tells you to leave well alone, then do just that. Jacob’s lived here for a long time. He knows everyone; I don’t.’
‘He’s right,’ Fred said. ‘That’s why everyone likes Jacob. Too many people these days sticking their noses in.’
‘We’re getting somewhere,’ Larry said. ‘Bob Palmer, that’s the name you identified, is warned off, but he doesn’t take any notice. Is that it?’
‘That’s it,’ the barman said. ‘The second day, this Palmer character grabs Jacob in the street, threatens to hit him, not that he did. Jacob’s soon in here, downs a couple of whiskies, a pint of beer. and then he’s outside making a phone call.’
‘To whom?’
‘I didn’t ask. As I said, I mind my own business.’
‘Where is Jacob?’
‘Jacob Wolfenden, that’s his full name. I’ve not seen him for a couple of days, unusual as he doesn’t miss his daily imbibe, not often, that is. You get used to seeing the regular faces, get to know something about them. But Jacob doesn’t say much. Not about himself anyway.’
‘We know that Palmer’s looking for someone.’
‘There’s only one person around here who scares everyone,’ Fred said.
The
