CHAPTER 17

The smell of aftershave followed Dexter into the bedroom as he returned from the bathroom. Slipped on his casual trousers. Wide turn-ups on the loose fit legs. White shirt. Left off the tie but pulled his grey suit jacket off the hanger. He did put his tie in his jacket pocket though. Sat on the bed and pushed his red socks into his brogues and tied the laces. Stood in front of the mirror and brushed back his quiff. Flicked a black cotton thread off the jacket sleeve. Why was he being so meticulous? Chase someone down and questions need to be asked. Asked by a scruffy fella who might be smelling a bit strong and the questions might be ignored. And that would be the polite way to describe it. Show some style. A touch of class and there was respect. Add a bit of authority and the necessary charm and answers might be freely given. 

The contents of his drawers and cupboard easily fitted into the beezer. Everything he possessed but still easily enough for a couple of weeks if needed. Pulled out the bottom drawer of the chest and turned it over. Ripped off the package stuck to the bottom. A poor hiding place he knew but there was nowhere else. In such a crap room you would expect a few loose floorboards. But they were all nailed tight. Maybe Dora objected to continuous squeaking of the upstairs floors. Opened the packet and removed the contents. At least one hundred pounds and a few small items of jewellery. His entire wealth. With digs, fares, food and maybe incentives to pay for, he hoped it would be enough. He did not fancy tackling a spot of work in what would be someone else's patch with all the associated risks. 

He had thought about stealing a car but then decided to keep things simple. The priority: find Tolly Parkin. Not get caught pinching a ride when a train would do the job perfectly well. That thought had cost him a pair of leads with crocodile clips. His hotwire gear. He forgot to pack them and left them sitting at the back of his top drawer. Creeping down the stairs he hoped to avoid Dora. No such luck. Unfortunately, she had the ears of a bat. 

“You’re off early,” she said, creeping up behind him as he stepped towards the front door. “Not even seven and you're away… No breakfast today?”  

“Sorry, got to miss breakfast. I’ve an early train to catch,” said Dexter, making an effort to remain civil. 

“When are you back? Just so I know what to buy.” 

“Back when I will be, Dora,” he said with a sharp edge that she would not miss. 

“No idea then?” 

“Nope. Anyway, does it matter? You weren’t so nice yesterday evening so why would you care?” 

“Just wanted to know is all. Don’t go getting all uppity.” 

“Sorry, but I’ve got to go. I told you last night I’ll be gone in four weeks.” 

“Yes, about that. You could stay, you know. I’ve thought about it. I could bend the rules for once. She’s nice, is your girl. What do you think?” 

“I’ll think about it while I’m away but no promises.” 

“I know what you do, You know. All your little capers…” 

“Are you threatening me?” Dexter’s eyes narrowed as he glared at Dora. 

“No… no, nothing like that. Just letting you know is all.”  

“Okay, but don’t even think about it. Like I said, I’ll let you know. Now I really do have to go.” 

Opening the door, he thought, If I had any doubts about leaving they’ve gone now. If I come back it’ll only be for a day or so just enough time to sort things out. However, this works out it’s time to move on for sure and I’ll take Dee with me if she’ll come. 

Dora scowled after Dexter as he strolled down the street in the direction of the station knowing she had made a mistake. She had insinuated she would make trouble for him. Would he come back now? She saw the beezer swinging and thought that perhaps she had pushed too far. 

 

The cold air this early made him button up his jacket, flip up the collar and huddle down a bit. Swinging the case he was pleased he had rules. Make sure all you’ve got will fit in a beezer and always take the lot when you walk out the door for more than a few day’s work. You never knew what might turn up and if you had to run. 

Dora Kemp’s lodging house was a few streets back from the seafront, so it was not so far to the station. The wind flicked his hair disturbing his quiff. He could feel moisture in the air and the pavement was still wet. The rattling on his window had kept him awake for some of the night. Although, about four, the storm had eased allowing a couple of hours of peace. Not so much happened on a wet morning in a seaside town like Bexhill. Deliveries to the hotels began early, of course, and the few office workers strolled to their jobs in the small offices and stores hidden amongst all the housing. A bus pulled up at the stop by the station. People got off, probably to catch the London train. All piling into the station through one small door at the same time caused a bit of a snarl up. Dexter stood back and waited a few seconds for the small rush to clear. 

Slowly following an elderly couple shuffling their way towards the entrance the sound of an engine revving made him glance towards the road. A van caught his eye as it turned into Sea Road. He snatched just a glimpse of the driver and stopped walking. Just a glimpse, but the driver was unmistakable. What did Dee say his name was? Something that was a bit unusual. Jimmy something. Raynott. That was it. Jimmy Raynott. Dexter knew his sort. A fingers and pies man. Well dodgy for sure. Now, what was Jimmy Raynott doing in Bexhill heading for the seafront so early in the morning? He was certain Jimmy had not seen him. His eyes had been firmly fixed on the road as he negotiated the junction close to the station. 

He checked the traffic and hit the opposite pavement at a run. Around the corner into Sea Road to see the van turn right. Down that way West Parade spread out along the seafront. At this time of day it would be quiet. Dexter ran on, the case swinging hard against his leg but he ignored it. He wanted to see what Jimmy was up to. With luck Jimmy’s destination was West Parade. If not there was no way Dexter would catch him. As he approached the end of Sea Road he slowed so he could just glance along West Parade. Jimmy had pulled up maybe one hundred yards along the street. His van backed up to a much larger black van. Dexter could just make out Dave Wilson Catering Supplies in large red letters on the side. Two men struggled to unload large, shiny silver tins. Dexter could not hear any conversation as they worked but it was obvious, from his gestures, that Jimmy wanted them to pick up the pace. He stood holding his van door open glancing along the promenade with his long grey overcoat flapping in the breeze whistling off the sea. Dexter ducked back as he saw Jimmy’s gaze shift his way. 

Two minutes Dexter watched. Maybe he saw one hundred tins transferred to Jimmy’s van. Then Dave Wilson’s van doors crashed shut and, after a few words, with a cloud of diesel smoke partially obscuring Jimmy’s van, it spluttered its way to the end of the Parade and turned right. Dexter could hear it accelerating towards the town centre as he watched Jimmy shut his van door and head off in the same direction. 

Having seen enough he sauntered back to the station, bought a single to Clapham Junction and waited on the platform for the London train. Grabbing a sandwich from the station cafe he hid, out of the wind, behind a roof support pillar.