“Just bloody open up!”
The door swung open and we went inside the Rangers Club. It was cold, stark, dimly lit and there was a sawdusty vinegary smell. The club was utilitarian on the inside, too, with a long crude bar that served only Harp and Bass on tap. The chairs were stacked on the tables, giving the place an even more desolate appearance. The voice from within belonged to a skinny but tough-looking thirty-year-old bloke with beady brown eyes and a misshapen shaved head which made him resemble one of the Talosians from the original series of Star Trek. He was wearing a Rangers away shirt and dungarees, which was an odd and unattractive combination.
“What can I do you for?”
I told him why we were here. He said his name was Teddy Pendergrass and he was the barman/janitor/bouncer for the establishment.
“Were you working here Wednesday night into Thursday morning?”
“I was.”
“And do you remember serving Mr Deauville?” I asked, showing him Deauville’s photograph.
“No … I don’t think I’ve seen him, uhm, in here before,” he said looking anywhere but at the three of us.
“You’re a terrible liar, Teddy. Don’t ever go into the confidence game. Now, Deauville was here on Thursday night and you remember him, don’t you?”
“No, not really.”
“Christ, Teddy, do you want us to lift you? Is that what you want? Now, do you remember him or not?”
“Aye, maybe.”
“Was he a regular?”
“Aye, I think he was.”
“Why would he come here of all the bars in Carrick to drink at?”
“Subsidised beer for club members. 50p a pint.”
“He wasn’t selling drugs out the back was he? Selling drugs out the back and giving you a cut of the action?”
“No! He wasn’t!”
“So if I was to bring Sergeant Mulvenny and his K9 team down here they wouldn’t find anything, would they?”
“What people do in the privacy of the stalls is their concern. I don’t know if they’re smoking dope back there or not.”
“We’d have to close the place down, wouldn’t we, Sergeant McCrabban?”
“Oh yes, Inspector Duffy, we’d have to. Under the Proceeds Of Crime (Northern Ireland Order) and under the Asset Forfeiture Act (Northern Ireland Order) we’d have no choice but to shut this place down and seize the assets of anyone who works here,” Crabbie said, playing along.
“But here’s the thing, Ted, we’re not the drugs squad, we’re investigating a murder. If you can help us solve our crime the drugs squad doesn’t have to know about any of this and Sergeant Mulvenny’s dogs don’t have to come out into the cold.”
Ted was desperate now. “What do you want to know?”
“Who did Francis Deauville associate with in here and who was he drinking with on Wednesday night?”
“Deauville only joined a couple of months back. He mostly drank by himself but occasionally people would go up to his table and he’d go to the bogs and sell them product. At least I assume he did. I never asked about it.”
“What people?”
“All sorts of people, young, old, you name it.”
“And how do you know he would sell them product if you never asked about it?”
“I never asked and I told him I didn’t want to know. I didn’t want to be involved and get myself kneecapped or worse.”
“So how do you know he was selling drugs?”
“I’m not stupid, so I’m not. And at the end of a night he would give me a wee tip.”
“How much?”
“It depended on how well he’d done, I suppose. Sometimes twenty quid, sometimes a hundred.”
“Tell me about Wednesday night.”
“What do you want to know?”
“His customers on Wednesday.”
“He was only in for an hour or so on Wednesday before last orders.”
“And who did he sell to?”
“The place was empty. You know what the weather was like.”
“I don’t know what the weather was like. I was in Donegal.”
“Freezing so it was. And wet. I don’t think he had a single customer.”
“Have you ever listened to Lou Reed? The weather is no deterrent to the determined junkie looking for a fix.”
“That may be the case but Frankie was drinking alone all night until his friend came in.”
“What friend?”
“Some old fella. His age or older, wearing a flat cap.”
“Describe him better.”
“I didn’t really look at him. Just an old guy, tall, wearing a flat cap over his face. They sat in the corner.”
“He kept the cap on inside?”
“Aye.”
“And how long did he and Deauville talk for?”
“About fifteen minutes. Frankie got him a whisky. Bells, I think.”
“And then what?”
“Then the old guy left and Frankie sat there for a bit, finished his pint and he left too.”
“Ever see the old guy in here before?”
“I don’t think so, but it’s hard to tell because his hat was down over his face.”
“Do you have CCTV cameras in here?” Lawson asked.
“No.”
“Did Deauville seem agitated or nervous, anything like that?”
“Nope. He seemed fine. Just like he was having a drink with an old friend … There was one thing, though.”