by David Evans
She ran back into the shop. “Dennis!” she shouted. “Quickly, out here.”
Flustered, she scurried back outside, PC Dennis Tate in quick pursuit.
Ten minutes later, the service yard was a flurry of activity, three marked cars with blue flashing lights.
They were quickly followed by a dark grey Mondeo. DI Colin Strong stepped out from the driver’s side; the short stocky figure of DC Luke Ormerod appeared from the other.
Dennis Tate raised the blue plastic Police tape he’d just strung across the entrance. “Over here, sir,” he said and led the way to the big bin with the lid open.
Strong peered inside. Lying on a bed of cardboard was the prone figure of a male, dressed in dark trousers, trainers and a puffa jacket. The left arm was stretched out with a watch exposed. The head was turned so that the left side was visible. Discolouration of the cheek and eye was clear, some blood traces from the nose and side of the mouth.
“Who found him, Dennis?” Strong asked.
“Mavis the older woman who works here came out to put some old boxes in the bin,” the officer responded. “She’s in the back office with my colleague.”
Strong turned to Ormerod. “Is SOCO on their way?”
“Yes, guv. And the doc.”
“Right, let’s have a word with Mavis.”
The store had been closed and an officer was guarding the door. In the office at the rear, Mavis Skinner nursed a mug of coffee alongside her workmate. The uniformed officer in attendance left the room when Strong appeared. He introduced himself and sat down opposite the women.
“I know this was a terrible shock for you Mavis, but I need to ask you a few questions.”
Mavis appeared calm and nodded when Strong spoke.
“When you took out the waste, was that the first time today you’d been to the bins?”
“Yes.” She looked to her colleague. “You didn’t go out earlier, did you?”
“Not me, love.”
“So, nobody has been in that area since yesterday?” Strong phrased it as a question.
Both women looked at each other and shook their heads.
“Is there CCTV for the rear yard?”
“For the shop, yes,” Mavis answered, “but I’m not sure if the outside camera has been working for the past week. I think I heard Joe, he’s the manager, saying he was waiting for someone to come and have a look at it. He’ll tell you himself, he’s on his way down. We thought it best to call him in.”
“Good,” Strong said. Before he could say any more, a knock on the door interrupted.
Luke Ormerod poked his head in. “Sorry, guv,” he said. “Doc Symonds is here and Scenes of Crime too.”
“Thanks, Luke. I’ll be out in a minute.” Strong turned back to the older woman. “We’ll need to get a statement from you Mavis, if that’s okay.”
“Sure.”
“And one last thing, did you see the man’s face?” Mavis nodded briefly and looked away. “You didn’t recognise him, did you? I mean, he’s not been in the shop before?”
For the first time, Mavis looked visibly upset. “I’m sorry, Inspector. Whoever it is looked in a bad way. I couldn’t say.”
“That’s fine.” Strong stood up. “I’ll get someone to take your statement and then you can go.”
As he was about to leave, the other woman asked, “Can we open up the shop again, or is that not on?”
“I’m afraid you’ll need to stay closed for a while longer. We’ll let you know.”
23
The living room door opened and Louise Hobson reappeared with a tray of steaming drinks.
Once Souter and Susan were settled back in their seats, he was keen to push on. “So how did you learn of the dreadful news on the Sunday, Louise?”
She took a sip of her tea before answering. “I saw a car pull up outside and watched as DI Hartley came up the path. DC Woods was with him. We had a policewoman staying with us and she opened the door to them.” Louise paused and looked over at the framed photographs for a second then took a deep breath. “Mr Hartley and the woman asked me to sit down. Mike remained standing but soon crumbled when they told us they’d found a body.” Tears filled her eyes and she looked directly at Souter. “I never want to feel like that ever again. And I don’t want any other parent to experience that.” She broke off and took another drink.
Souter and Susan said nothing, allowing the woman time to compose herself and resume her account when she was ready.
“Later, I also realised how horrible it must have been for those two boys, the ones who found her. Little Kenny Green was only nine and his friend Paul Nichols was ten. When I think how that must have affected them in later life.” She looked distant for a second before focusing on Souter. “It was the Monday morning before they took us to Pinderfields to identify her. She looked so peaceful. It was as if she’d just fallen asleep. Only she’d never wake up again.”
“Did the police have any suspects at the time?” Souter asked.
“No one they ever mentioned to us by name. I think there were one or two … you know ...” She made a face. “Horrible men they questioned. But no, nobody serious.”
“You moved from the house on Lupset,” Souter stated.
“Yes. We didn’t feel comfortable there anymore. It must have been about fourteen months after Claire …” She left the sentence unfinished. “We talked about it as a family, Mike, Martin, Charlotte and myself. You know Claire had an older brother and a younger sister?”
Souter nodded.
“Martin works down south now, London. Doing well for himself. He was eighteen when it happened.” She smiled. “He’s married now, two children, Katy and Alison. And Charlotte, she was only twelve. I think it affected her more than Martin. As I said, Claire was a young fourteen and she and Charlotte were quite close, similar tastes in music and both quite sporty.”
Souter jotted down a few more notes then looked up. “Do you think they’d talk to me? Martin and Charlotte, I mean. It would give another dimension to any article.”
“I think they might. I’ll ask them and get them to give you a call, if that’s okay?”
“Sure. We’ve got some time to put this together and Mr Chandler … I believe you spoke to him initially at the Post?”
Louise nodded.
“I’m sure he’ll want to keep the timing of any publication fluid for best effect.”
“Of course,” she said.
So we’ve got some following up to do on this now,” Susan remarked as Souter pulled the car away from the kerb.
“Martin will be a telephone call. She didn’t say where Charlotte is now. I’ll follow that up with a call to Louise next week.”
Susan shuffled through the photocopies Phyllis had produced. She’d left them in the car whilst they were talking to the Hobsons. “Strange,” she said. “The story seemed to drop out of the news fairly quickly afterwards.”
“I think the investigation stalled. And then don’t forget the events that swamped it, “Souter said as they drew to a halt at a set of traffic lights.
Susan looked puzzled. “How d’you mean?”
“South Georgia was invaded by the Argies a couple of weeks later; and then The Falklands. After that, the war was in full swing; the news was dominated by it.”
The lights changed and he swung right onto Dewsbury Road to head back out to Ossett. As he drove, activity ahead on the left-hand side of the road caught his attention. “’ello, ‘ello, ‘ello,” he said, mimicking Dixon of Dock Green. “What’s going on here?”
An array of police vehicles, all with flashing blue lights were parked up outside the convenience store. Souter slowed then spotted a car he recognised. He indicated left then turned onto the side street. He managed to find a space about thirty yards up. “Stay here a minute, Susan,” he said.
Her hand was on the door handle in a flash. “No way,” she responded. “I’m just as nosey as you.”
He approached one of the constables
, Susan at his shoulder. “Something serious, Officer?”
“Just move on please, sir.”
Souter spotted a familiar figure emerging from the shop doorway. Leaving the constable, he walked towards his friend. “Colin, what’s going on?”
“Christ, are you tuned in to the police radios?” Strong responded.
“Would you believe, just passing.”
“Right.” A look of disbelief passed over Strong’s face then altered to one of annoyance. “Well there’s nothing I can tell you at the moment.”
A black private ambulance pulled up as they spoke.
“So who’s been killed?” Souter persisted.
Strong took his friend by the elbow and led him away from the shop. “Look Bob, I’ve only just got here. Do me a favour and just disappear for now. I’ll give you a call when I can.”
Susan had watched the conversation between Souter and Strong then caught sight of a young woman, leaving the shop and putting her arms into the sleeves of her jacket. She could see her company overall beneath. Taking her chance, she slipped unnoticed past the two men.
“Hi,” she said to the woman. “What’s going on? Is the shop closed?”
“Oh, drama this afternoon,” the shop girl replied. “I don’t think we’ll be open until tomorrow at the earliest.”
“So what’s happened?”
“Mavis, one of the women who works here, she found a body in one of the bins.”
Susan put her hand to her mouth in a gesture of exaggerated shock. “Oh no, that’s dreadful. Do they know who he is?”
The woman shook her head. “Whoever he was has been given a good hiding Mavis said but she didn’t recognise him.” She fiddled with the zip on her jacket.
“Is Mavis still around?”
“She’s still in the shop giving a statement.”
“Have the police said anything about how he died or how he ended up in the bin?” Susan asked.
The woman stopped what she was doing and screwed up her eyes as if looking at Susan for the first time. “You seem to ask a lot of questions,” she said.
Susan gave a shrug. “Sorry, don’t mind me, I’m just always interested in what’s going on.”
The woman held Susan’s gaze for a second before turning away without another word.
Susan watched her flip up the hood on her jacket and hurry away.
Just then, Souter approached her. “Find out anything?” he asked.
“A body in the bin apparently,” Susan said. “Given a pasting but they don’t know who the victim is.”
“Colin said he’d call me later. Sounds like a murder case though.” Souter grinned. “And here we are, first on the scene. I’ll jot down a few notes and call the newsroom. Come on, let’s go.” He began to walk back to his car.
“Hold on,” Susan said. “Don’t need to be too hasty.”
Walking back, he looked at her, intrigued. “What are you thinking?”
“I think we should hang about a bit longer.” She looked around at the growing number of onlookers. “We might get a bit more.”
No one paid any attention to the little lad who looked about twelve, riding a bike that seemed too small for him, baseball cap turned back to front. He rode around at the back of the crowd, watching what was going on but saying nothing to anyone.
Just as a serious looking man in his forties with a bald pate pulled up in an Audi and walked to the shop, the young lad moved nearer to Souter and Susan, stared at them for a second or two then rode off into the estate.
Five minutes later, Mavis emerged. Susan took her chance and approached her. “Mavis, is it?” she asked.
The woman looked at Susan and then to Souter standing alongside. “Who wants to know?”
Before Susan could answer, Souter jumped in. “My name’s Bob Souter, we’re from the Yorkshire Post,” he said.
At least he said ‘we’, Susan thought.
“Press?”
“Could you spare us a few minutes?” Souter asked.
“I’m not sure,” Mavis responded. “I need to get home.”
“We could give you a lift?” Souter offered.
She considered for a moment then nodded. “Okay, it’s not far.”
24
A quarter to five, just as the football results would be coming through on the televisions and radios of the nation, Colin Strong stood in front of the group of detectives called in to the CID Incident room. DCI Hemingford was in Manchester and DCS Flynn in London. Those were the results of his phone calls and so it fell to him to start organising the latest murder enquiry. Two in the same week piled the pressure on the team. ‘Keep things calm until I get back on Monday morning,’ Hemingford had said.
The photos from Wednesday’s incident in the park were prominent on the two display boards at one end of the room. Now, along one side, another board was being set up with pictures from this afternoon’s find in the bin behind the shop on Dewsbury Road.
“First priority,” Strong began, “we need to identify our victim. Initial feeling is he is in his twenties. Severe head injuries consistent with a prolonged beating.”
“No identification on him, guv?” one detective asked.
“Initial search of his pockets provided some loose change and some keys. No wallet,” Strong responded. “The other thing we need to establish, well two really, is time of death and when he was deposited in the waste bin.”
“According to Mavis Skinner, the shop worker who found him, nobody had been round to that bin all day, so he must have been dumped some time between eleven last night and six this morning,” Luke Ormerod added. “I spoke to the shop manager and he tells me the CCTV camera for the yard had stopped functioning last Thursday and he’s waiting for the security company to come out to it on Monday.”
“Shit, so we’ve got nothing from that.” Strong was frustrated. “Who’s on door to door?”
“Uniform have a team conducting that,” Ormerod replied.
“Get them to see if there are any cameras in the area,” Strong said. “A long shot I know but I think we might need everything on this one.”
Ormerod jotted a note.
“We’ve also got a team of uniforms doing a fingertip search of the yard,” one of the team said.
“And the PM is scheduled for tomorrow morning,” Strong informed them. “So Luke, you and I will cover that.”
“What about Kelly, guv?” Ormerod wondered.
“I thought we’d leave her to enjoy her weekend off for now. She’ll come in fresh on Monday.”
“Might be pissed off she’s missing the action.”
“Hardly action,” Strong said. “In the meantime, let’s check any missing persons reports; see if any could tally with our victim.” He looked at the board before turning back to his team. “And taxi drivers. Check with all the local firms. Did any of their drivers see anything suspicious last night in the vicinity of the shop or on the Lupset estate itself? There’s usually a fair taxi trade there. Okay, that’s it for now. Anything comes up, let me know straight away.”
He left the room, fetched himself a coffee and returned to his office. He stood for a minute looking out the window to the Town Hall opposite, the rain driving into the windows. Plenty to think about. He sat down and took a sip of his drink, surprising himself that he still persisted with the drinks machine.
His thoughts drifted to the previous afternoon when he and Kelly returned to Weaver’s office to speak to his other work colleague. They’d waited again in the smart reception area for a few minutes before a short, overweight man in his late thirties appeared and introduced himself as Bill Crossley. No fancy upper floor office this time, merely a functional meeting room behind the photocopiers.
When it came down to it, Crossley had his suspicions but couldn’t throw any light on who Weaver had been seeing. According to him, it wasn’t anyone in the department but that wasn’t to say it couldn’t have been someone else in the office. After all, he told them, the company was spr
ead over four floors and seven different departments.
And so Strong was no further forward on Weaver’s clandestine meeting partner.
He was rubbing his face with both hands, trying to bring his eyes back into focus when Ormerod knocked on his door. Strong beckoned him in.
“Guv, we have an identity,” he said.
“Who?”
Ormerod consulted the sheet of paper he had in his hands. “Mark Thompson, twenty-three years of age and an address in town, near Kirkgate station.”
“Anything known?”
“Previous for shoplifting, but that was as a juvenile. Lived on the Lupset estate then. Identified by his fingerprints.”
25
“You’ll never guess,” Susan blurted out, as soon as she stepped over the threshold of Alison’s house.
“What are you so excited about?” Alison asked. She was laid out on the settee nursing a mug of tea that Sammy had made for her.
Sammy walked in from the kitchen. “Go on then, spill,” she said.
Souter ignored the women’s enthusiasm and made his way to the kitchen. After time standing out in the cold and on his phone in the car to the newsroom, he needed the comfort of a hot drink. Whilst Susan related events on Dewsbury Road, he turned over in his mind thoughts of his conversation with Claire Hobson’s mother. There wasn’t really much of an intercourse with her father. He wondered about trying to speak to him again. Would that be welcomed? Possibly not, but he’d like to make at least one further attempt to get him to open up. Perhaps that was the difference between men and women; men struggled to talk about things that had such a devastating effect on their lives. Women were more open. Or was that just a stereotype? If it was, he certainly wouldn’t like to be accused of biasing any article on that narrow-minded thinking.
The kettle clicked off and he poured water onto the tea bag in his mug. The chatter from the living room continued.
And then there were the two boys who’d found Claire’s body. Were they still in the area? He’d start looking into that on Monday.
When he walked back into the front room, Susan was concluding her account of the afternoon’s events. “I tell you,” she said, “talk about right place, right time.”
