by L M Krier
‘We only know him as Simon Saviour which is almost certainly not his real name. He had no ID on him that we could find. We’re looking for a vehicle he may have been driving now and hoping to identify him through that. As long as you’re happy for me to transport him, I’ll get Gary to hospital. I just want to avoid him seeing Simon when he gets there, if that’s at all possible.’
‘I doubt anything can be guaranteed with a possible ongoing Majax but I’ll certainly pass the word along and see what can be done.’
‘Hey, is that Steve? This is Michael Marley, from Redemption Song. Sorry it took a while to get back to you. What can I do for you, man?’
There was a hint of a West Indies accent, but whether or not that was for effect, Steve couldn’t yet tell. The call had come through on his personal mobile number, the one he had included with his email to the group’s website.
‘Hi, thanks for calling me. Let me just go somewhere a bit quieter. Hang on.’
His fingers were flying over his keyboard as he spoke. An email to Océane, with the number which had called him, asking for any help she could give with a trace on it.
He went out into the corridor, pulling the door to noisily behind him for effect. He didn’t at this stage want to let his caller know he was police. First he wanted to see what information, if any, he could get from the call.
‘Sorry about that, I didn’t want to talk in front of my mate. I’m planning a surprise.’
‘No sweat, man. Like I said, sorry for the delay in contacting you. It’s usually Simon, the keyboard player, who does that stuff but he’s away for a few weeks. So what can I do for you?’
‘If Simon’s away, does that mean you’re not taking bookings? I was kind of interested in getting him. I’ve heard he’s good.’
‘The band does play without him, you can still book us, just there won’t be keyboard.’
‘I was trying to find out more about him but there’s nothing online.’
The man laughed. ‘Oh, Simon’s a bit shy about his day job. It’s not cool for someone playing the gigs we do to admit to mucking around with church organs. Don’t tell him I told you that or he’ll kill me.’
‘Do you know when he’s back? Only I’d like to book when he’s playing.’
‘A few weeks for sure. I’ll try to get hold of him for a definite date, then I can call you again when I know.’
Steve thanked him then, as soon as he ended the call he dialled the boss.
‘Yes, Steve?’
‘Sir, Simon Saviour. It’s Peter Spencer. The organ tuner. I’ve just had confirmation from another band member that Simon Saviour’s day job is church organs. It can’t be a coincidence, can it, boss?’’
‘That’s great, thanks, Steve. And no, I doubt it’s a coincidence. Good news here, too. We’ve just found Gary Heath, in the church hall. He’s going to be all right. The Preacher was here too. He tried to hang himself but we’ve got him down and he’s on his way to hospital shortly. Maurice and I are taking Gary there, too. And we just got confirmation that Peter Spencer’s car is parked in the road outside the church hall. Good work, Steve. Let the team know, please, and the Super. And circulate the word to the other forces involved.’
Ted wanted to see the man he was now fairly sure was Peter Spencer loaded into an ambulance and on his way to hospital before he left the site. The rapid responder had been right. There was currently only one ambulance available but after checking Gary over thoroughly, the paramedics had declared him safe to be taken by car. He too was now bundled up in blankets. Ted decided in the end to let Maurice go on ahead with him. He’d follow himself in the ambulance. Now he had his hands on The Preacher, he was anxious not to let him out of his sight.
While the ambulance crew were working to stabilise Spencer before moving him, Ted had calls to make. He wanted more bodies to do a thorough site search and he wanted a full forensics team. That thought gave him a fleeting feeling of guilt, remembering he had not yet phoned Doug to tell him he couldn’t take the kitten.
He wanted forensics to check every inch of the church hall, both inside the unit and in the space outside, as well as Spencer’s car, for any signs that the other victims had also been brought there. They needed anything which would tie Spencer to all four abductions and tortures. Now they had his car, there was just an outside chance they could get a partial match for the tyre tracks up at Ludworth Moor.
He also wanted to arrange with the local station to have a police presence near to Spencer in hospital all the time, and to make sure everyone connected to his treatment knew that he was a potential suicide risk. More than anything, he wanted to see the man in court for what he’d done, and to find out what had motivated him.
He made a quick call to Trev, while he had the chance.
‘Hi, it’s me. I’m going to be late tonight.’
‘I know. You told me. Bill’s leaving do.’
‘I’m not going to get to that, unfortunately, and I’ve no idea what time I’ll get back. We just got the bad guy.’
‘Well, that’s great news. Does that mean I might get to see a bit of you over the weekend? Shame about Bill’s do though, he’ll miss you. D’you want me to call in at The Grapes on my way home to let him know why you can’t be there? More personal than a call.’
‘Would you? That would be really kind. I don’t deserve you.’
Trev laughed. ‘I know you don’t. I shall expect to be taken out and wined and dined in thanks.’
‘Just don’t drink this evening if you’re on the bike.’
‘Yes, Mother.’
‘Don’t count on me over the weekend, though. You know that just because we’ve got him it doesn’t mean it’s over. I’ll be up to my neck in paperwork.’
‘Try to find a couple of hours. Who knows, you and Walter might just win next time.’
When he went back, Spencer had been loaded onto a trolley and was being wheeled carefully out to the ambulance. His eyes were open but he showed no signs of being aware of his surroundings.
‘I don’t think he’s going to be doing much talking for a while,’ one of the paramedics told Ted as they carefully transferred their patient to the back of the ambulance.
‘Just as long as I, or one of my team, is with him once he is talking,’ Ted told them as he climbed in and the doors were shut. ‘We’ve been tracking him for a while and we’re going to be very interested in what he has to say for himself.’
Spencer was whisked away to a bay for assessment as soon as he arrived. A uniformed constable was already there and approached Ted to introduce himself, seeing his police ID round his neck.
‘I want you to stay as close to him as you can, Constable. Right outside the door and don’t leave him unattended for any reason. He’s a suicide risk and I don’t want to lose him before I’ve had chance to question him.’
‘Sir.’
‘I’m going to find our victim and see what else he can tell us. Then I’ll be back.’
Ted was directed to a relatives’ room where he found Maurice looking after Gary’s parents, who had been summoned and arrived quickly, and an older teenager who was presumably Roger, Gary’s boyfriend. Ted wasn’t surprised to see that Maurice had supplied everyone with hot chocolate, his cure-all for everything. Maurice stood up to make the introductions.
Gary’s father rose to his feet to shake Ted’s hand.
‘Thank you for finding our lad, Inspector. Do you know who did this to him and why?’
‘I’m afraid there’s nothing I can tell you at the moment, Mr Heath. As soon as I know anything, I will tell you what I can, I promise.’
‘And do you know when we can see our Gary?’
‘Someone will come and find you, as soon as they’ve finished examining him. If you’ll excuse me now, please, I need to go and find out what’s happening. DC Brown will stay with you until we know more. You’re in safe hands with him.’
Ted was anxious to find a doctor to tell him about Spencer’s condition
and prognosis. They now had The Preacher, but Ted was none the wiser as to why he’d been committing the crimes he had. He wanted to know when they could start interviewing him, to find out his motives.
He finally found a doctor involved with treating Spencer, who had now been moved to a side room, with the police constable on duty outside his door.
Ted showed his ID and asked, ‘Are you able to tell me when we can start interviewing Mr Spencer, please?’
‘Certainly not for a couple of days yet. There’s some damage to his larynx from the noose so he’s not going to be able to speak at the moment. This was definitely a suicide attempt, I believe? Not something someone else did to him? And I understand you’re anxious that he’s kept on suicide watch in case of a further attempt? I’m trying to get someone from psych to come and assess him, for our own records as much as anything else.’
‘We’re not looking for anyone else in connection with Mr Spencer’s injuries, and we’re fairly certain that he was responsible for those to the young man who came in at the same time, Gary Heath. There’s a good chance that he’s also behind similar assaults on three other young men. Even if he can’t talk to me, is there any chance I could see him just for a few moments?’
‘As long as you promise me that you’re not going to do anything to him.’
The doctor sounded suspicious of his motives.
‘I can assure you of that, Doctor. I’m not that sort of policeman.’
The constable outside opened the door for Ted to go in. He walked over to the bed to where The Preacher was lying, his eyelids lightly closed. The puffiness was going from his face and his lips had lost their earlier blueish hue. He was starting to look more like the photo they had of Peter Spencer.
Sensing a presence next to him, the man in the bed opened his eyes. They were a light hazel colour, not unlike Ted’s own. He looked at the figure standing next to him, then his gaze slid down to take in the ID round Ted’s neck.
‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Darling, from Stockport. I’ve been investigating a series of crimes involving the kidnap and torture of young men. I understand that you aren’t able to speak at the moment so I don’t intend to attempt to question you. I would be grateful though if you could confirm your identity for me by nodding or shaking your head in response to some questions.
‘You’re a musician who plays in a band called Redemption Song?’
A cautious nod.
‘Your stage name is Simon Saviour?’
Another slight nod, which produced a wince. The movement was clearly painful.
‘Your real name is Peter Spencer and you are, by profession, a church organ tuner?’
Spencer nodded twice, barely moving this time, in confirmation of both questions.
‘Thank you, Mr Spencer. That will be all for now. There will be a police officer outside your door at all times and as soon as the doctors tell us you are fit to be interviewed, we will want to ask you more questions.’
As Ted turned to go, he felt Spencer’s hand catch hold weakly of his arm. He looked back towards the man in the bed. Spencer’s lips were moving but no sound was audible. Ted could lip read what he was saying easily enough.
‘Thank you.’
Chapter Twenty-eight
‘I don’t want to ruin everyone’s weekend, but as you all know, even with The Preacher safely in hospital, there’s still a lot of work to be done before we can charge him.’
Ted had called his full team in for a Saturday morning briefing. He was hoping that between them they could sort out what needed doing so that everyone got some time off before Monday.
‘Rob, interviewing Peter Spencer will be your job. Liaise with the hospital, make sure they know you want to talk to him as soon as it’s possible. An interview under caution, recorded. There is just a chance he might confess. Yesterday he tried to thank me. Whether that was for not letting him die or stopping him from committing further crimes, I don’t know, but it might be a good sign.
‘Maurice, I think you need to go and see Darren. Tell him we have Simon Saviour. If you can get him to understand that, he might feel able to talk to you a bit more. We need to prepare for the possibility of a not guilty plea and have all the witness statements we can get. You should also talk to Gary when he’s back home, see what he can tell you. He’s the least traumatised of them so see what detail you can get from him.
‘Jezza, same for you with Tim, please. You seem to have some way of getting through to him. Ask the centre where he’s staying if you can go and visit him, tell him the news and see if that prompts him to start talking.’
‘Boss, what’s going to happen to Tim when the unit needs the bed? If he’s kicked out he’s going to be right back where he started from, on the streets and probably on drugs.’
‘Not our problem, Jezza,’ Ted told her patiently.
‘But he’s going to be no use to us as a witness if he goes back to living as he was doing before. There must be something we can do for him. It’s just plain wrong that a vulnerable victim like that is abandoned by the system. Not to mention the other Simon, Roger’s brother.’
‘I hear what you say, Jezza, but for now, we need to focus on the case. I agree, there’s something broken in society when there are so many homeless people, including ex-servicemen. But that’s a political discussion for another time, not during briefing, please.’
It was said pleasantly enough but it left none of them, not even Jezza, in any doubt that the subject was off limits for now.
‘Steve, we need to know everything you can find out about Peter Spencer, especially how he came up clear on Disclosure. Also all the other members of this group he plays in, Redemption Song. For a crime like this, it would be highly unusual for The Preacher to be working with an accomplice, but let’s make sure. And Sal, I want everything you can find on this company, Revelations Recordings, and how the paperwork trail was handled. I didn’t care for this Jon Carter of Parton and Carter. Not one bit. It would be an added bonus if we could dig up anything to rattle his cage, while we’re at it.
‘Virgil, how’s the FGM case? I’ve left you on that for now.’
‘Still a bit of paperwork, boss, but coming along nicely, if I can use that word for a case like this.’
‘Talking of paperwork, mine is calling to me. Jo, Mike, over to you to allocate from here. And let’s keep up the search for Simon Ashton. If we can at least let his family know where he is, that would be something.’
Ted tried calling Bill around mid-morning, leaving him time to sleep off a hangover. Trev had said that he’d been drinking heavily when he’d called in at The Grapes the evening before and was looking morose, clearly not enjoying either his supposedly surprise party or the prospect of his enforced leave.
‘Hi Bill, it’s Ted. I imagine you had a good night if you’re not awake yet. I just wanted to say sorry, once again, that I couldn’t make it last night. I’ll try again later, but just call me if you want to chat at any time.’
He didn’t get a reply from him at all on Saturday. By mid-morning Sunday, he tried leaving another message on Bill’s mobile and on his landline. He was getting slightly concerned. He’d try to call round there at the end of the day, but he didn’t seem to be making much progress in clearing his desk. He’d had to cry off going riding, insisting that Trev go by himself so he didn’t miss out on having some fun while his partner was working.
It was getting late in the afternoon before his conscience would allow him to call a halt for the day. He was gathering up his briefcase when his mobile beeped with an incoming text message. Bill’s number.
‘Ted. Please look after Jack. Sorry.’
He felt his heart start to pound. He tried calling Bill but it went straight to answerphone. He called the control room.
‘DCI Darling. Get a car round to Bill Baxter’s house, now, and call an ambulance. I think he’s done something stupid. I’m on my way.’
He took his official car so he could use the blues and
twos if he needed to. As it was, he covered the distance up to Marple Bridge in record time, squealing to a halt close to Bill’s house. There was no sign of life and the upstairs curtains were closed.
Ted hammered on the front door, a finger pressed against the bell push and not letting go. He lifted the letter flap and shouted through it.
‘Bill! Bill! Are you in there? It’s Ted. Open up, Bill.’
All he could hear from inside was the shouting of Bill’s foul-tempered cockatoo, Father Jack. The bird was named after the drunken priest in the TV show Father Ted and Bill had taken great delight in teaching him all his catchphrases.
‘Feck! Arse! Drink! Girls!’
‘Bill! Come on, let me in.’
Ted was still banging on the door as he shouted. The front door of the next house opened and an elderly woman peered out suspiciously.
‘What are you doing? Who are you?’
Ted still had his ID round his neck. He held it up towards her.
‘I’m police, a work colleague of Bill. I’m worried about him. Have you seen him today?’
‘Oh dear. No, no I haven’t.’
‘You don’t know if anyone has a key, do you?’
‘Oh I wouldn’t think so. He’s a very private man.’
An area car arrived at that moment and pulled up behind Ted’s car.
‘We need to get inside,’ Ted told the officers who got out, not bothering with formalities. ‘Break in, on my authority. Is there an ambulance on its way?’
‘Yes, sir, ETA five minutes.’
One of the PCs drew a baton, broke a pane of glass and reached in to open the lock.
‘The sarge needs to do something about his security,’ he commented.
Ted thought that was likely to be the least of Bill’s worries at the moment as he pushed the door open and hurried inside. It stank like a pub, whisky, and lots of it. Instinctively, Ted knew Bill wouldn’t do anything in front of Father Jack, who lived in the kitchen. He had a quick glance inside the front room then sprinted up the stairs, two at a time, the two PCs following him.
