by David Evans
Strong afforded himself a smile before leaning forward, both hands on the counter top. “We could easily do that.” The smile had evaporated. “We could also bring Trading Standards back with us too. They’d be very interested in you selling alcohol and cigarettes to minors.”
“I don’t …”
“Just like those lads who were leaving when we arrived,” Strong interrupted. “Now …”
“Look, I was only joking,” Brian said, nervously.
“Your transaction records then,” Strong said. He nodded to the ceiling mounted fixture. “And your CCTV tape for Sunday too. As soon as you can.”
Brian opened his mouth to reply but said nothing, hurrying off into a back room. Two minutes later he returned with a box file of till receipts. He thumbed through a few. “Here.” He pulled one out. “Thirty-two quid, wasn’t it?”
“And eighteen pence.” Stainmore said.
“Yep, that was two bottles of Bells whisky and twenty Benson and Hedges.”
Stainmore took the till receipt and studied it. “The time ties in too so, let’s have a look at the tape. Unless, of course you can save us the trouble and tell us who bought this?”
“I can’t remember, it’s quite busy on Sundays.”
“Well let’s see if we can help you remember, Brian,” Strong said.
A worried expression came over the young man’s face. “But … how …?”
“You have a player in the back office, don’t you?”
“Well, yes, but I’d have to shut the shop, and the boss, he’ll …”
“It shouldn’t take long. We can narrow down the time after all.”
Five minutes later, the shop locked, Strong, Stainmore and Brian were huddled in the office around a TV screen. Brian found the time period they were looking for. Two youths in jeans, dark jackets with hoodies underneath approached the counter with the two bottles that Brian had identified. The camera position was on the ceiling facing the counter. Up to that point, the youths’ faces couldn’t be seen. The detectives watched as one youth produced a card. Brian placed it in the machine and swiped the receipt note back and forth before handing it to the youth to sign it. Transaction complete, the two turned away from the counter but kept their heads down as they walked to the exit.
“Shit,” Strong muttered in disappointment.
“They bloody knew,” Stainmore said. “They were aware of the camera position.”
“But you must have seen their faces, Brian,” Strong said.
“I can’t really remember, I wasn’t paying that much attention.”
“Obviously, or you would have noticed the signature didn’t really match the card.” Stainmore tried to hide her annoyance.”
Strong kept up the pressure. “And you didn’t think it suspicious that these two kept their hoods up the whole time?”
“No, not really,” Brian responded. “It’s the fashion. Besides, it was pissing down all day on Sunday.” He looked frightened as he went on, “They’re not regular customers though. I would have recognised them if they had been.”
“So you did see their faces?”
“No. No, I didn’t mean …I just meant I knew I hadn’t seen them before.”
Strong studied the man for a moment before deciding he believed him. After all, if they were using a stolen credit card, it would make sense not to do so in one of your regular haunts. All the same, the pair were camera aware.
“I’ll need to take this,” Strong said, ejecting the tape from the player. “Our forensics people might be able to get something from it. That is okay with you Brian?”
The shop assistant nodded. “Sure,” he said.
Once outside, Stainmore looked to her boss. “You think we got everything from him?” she asked.
“As much as we can for now, Kelly. In the meantime, ask Trevor to come down here and get hold of whatever CCTV he can. Our two might have known where the camera was in the shop, but I’m not convinced they’re that smart that they won’t have been caught out somewhere nearby.”
* * *
On his way back to the B & B, Andy hardly noticed the rain, heavier than ever. Brannigan hadn’t made an idle threat, he was sure of that. Every detail of that night in the toilet block passed through his mind on his walk. It was true, Brannigan was wearing gloves. And he never gave it a second thought when he was asked to take off the cistern cover to place the money inside. His prints would be on that.
He opened the front door of the guest house and walked up the stairs to the first-floor room where they were staying. As soon as he opened the door, he knew there was something wrong. The room was empty; no Felicity. The wardrobe door was ajar. Looking inside, the small suitcase they’d packed quickly on Sunday afternoon had gone, along with all her clothes. There was no sign of the holdall with the money either. The only clothes left were his.
Pulling out his mobile, he sat on the end of the bed and dialled Felicity’s number. Instantly, he was informed that the mobile he was trying was switched off. He looked up at the dressing table and that’s when he saw the note. Picking it up, he sat on the bed and read:
Sorry.
Have to do this for Mum.
Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.
And don’t try to find me, just get on with your own life.
Felicity x
She can’t be right in the head, he thought. And then anger slowly overcame him. The selfish cow. She’d pissed off with her little bit of tainted money, justifying her actions through some twisted logic leaving him to sort out the mess. Well he wasn’t having that.
Jumping up off the bed, he looked out of the window. He hadn’t paid any attention when he arrived back but he was pleased to see his car was still there. Gathering up his clothes, he rolled them into a ball as best he could and took them downstairs and out to the car. When he came back in to settle up and leave the room key, the landlady was waiting for him.
“I hoped you weren’t just going to disappear,” she said.
Somehow, Andy managed to contain his anger at that remark and merely said, “I’m not like that. Now, I’d like to check out.”
“Had a falling out have you?”
“Felicity’s had to go back to work. Now the bill, if you please.”
“Just with her going off in a taxi … That’s sixty pounds in total.”
“Sixty? But we’ve only been here one night.”
“But it’s after 12 – time for check out.”
Andy finally snapped. “Yeah, and they’re battering your door down to stay here. Now here’s thirty, and even that’s overcharged for this dump.” He slammed the notes down on the hall table, put the room key alongside and quickly left as the landlady shouted insults after him.
First, he tried the railway station. The only train to have left that afternoon was the slow to Middlesbrough. He couldn’t see her taking that option. Next door was the bus station. There had been a few of the longer distance coaches setting off that day, one to Leeds, one to York and another to Scarborough.
He sat down on a bench under the canopy of the bus station and took her note from his coat pocket. Reading it again, he decided it wasn’t worth it. Why should he go chasing after someone who had set him up and acted so selfishly? Other incidents crossed his mind. Had he really been so gullible? Putting the note back in his pocket, he left the bus station and got back into his car. Nothing for it, he’d have to face Brannigan himself, threats or no threats.
* * *
Strong was on his way back to Wood Street when his mobile rang. Stainmore was still at Agbrigg Road briefing Trevor Newell on what they were looking for. She’d get a lift back with him.
He pulled over into a bus stop. Laura’s name was on the screen.
“Hey, how did it go?”
“Ooh, not so sure,” she said. “You can never tell. I think I said all the right things.”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Strong reassured. “You know you’re the best person for the job.”
“We’l
l see.”
“So when will you know?”
“They’ll phone tonight, apparently.”
“That’s good, they don’t keep you hanging around.”
“Will you be home in good time?”
“Yeah … should be.”
She picked up the hesitancy in his voice. “Everything okay?”
“I saw Alison at lunchtime. She arranged for me to speak to one of her colleagues where she works. You know she and Sammy work in the same office as the park murder victim.”
“Something wrong?”
“I’m not sure. She seemed to be in a bit of discomfort. Tried to hide things but I’m wondering with her condition and all. Her hands looked swollen.”
“Not unusual when you’re pregnant. I’m sure Bob will keep an eye on her. Look, got to go.”
“Me too.”
“See you tonight.”
With the call ended, Strong sat for a moment before a bus came up from behind flashing its lights and sounding its horn bringing him out of his thoughts.
With an acknowledging hand, he put the car in gear and pulled away.
37
Andy turned the key in the lock of the door to the flat. He half expected Felicity to bounce out towards him but all was quiet. He’d had plenty of time on the two-and-a- half-hour drive from Whitby to mull over his thoughts. It should only have taken just under two hours but an accident on the A64 put paid to that. It was dark outside and the gloomy interior depressed him even more. He would have to move out; no way could he stay here now.
Picking up some mail from behind the front door, he walked down the hallway to the sitting room. He threw the envelopes down on the small dining table in front of the window. The only light came from the dim glow of a streetlamp on the opposite side of the road. Leaving the lights off, he sat down on the sofa, leaned back and closed his eyes.
He must have nodded off because the next sound he heard was frantic knocking on the front door.
When he opened it, George Brannigan pushed his way in. “Where the hell is she?” he demanded.
Before Andy could reply, the visitor had stomped into the sitting room and switched on the light. Andy closed the front door and followed him up the hallway.
“She’s gone,” Andy said.
Brannigan met him at the sitting room door. “What do you mean ‘gone’? She was with you this afternoon, wasn’t she?”
He was up close and Andy could smell his stale breath. “Here,” he said, pulling Felicity’s note from his jacket pocket. “When I went back to the guest house after talking to you, this was all that was there. She’d packed and left in a taxi.”
Brannigan read the letter then pushed it back in Andy’s chest. “You didn’t ask?”
“Who? Where?” Andy took the crumpled piece of paper and stuffed it back into his pocket.
“The landlady? The cab company?”
“I drove down to the train station and the bus station but there was no sign. She could have gone anywhere. Middlesbrough, Scarborough, York, Leeds or even further afield.”
Brannigan paced the sitting room. “She’ll not get away with this.” He turned and faced Andy. “Did you tell her? What I said about her mother’s condition? How it would affect her?”
“I didn’t get the chance. Like I said, she was gone when I got back to the room.”
“Spoilt bitch,” he spat.
Andy drew his head back, holding Brannigan’s stare. “So her cousin, Mark – did you have anything to do with what’s happened to him?”
“I told you already, I never went near him.”
“But you did go looking for him the night he was murdered.”
Brannigan snorted and turned away. “I saw him, at the salon, just after you dropped her off on Friday morning.”
Andy’s face was screwed up in disbelief. “You followed us?”
“I thought there was something funny about all this kidnapping bollocks. And I was right, wasn’t I?”
“And then what? You searched him out too? He wouldn’t tell you anything, so you killed him?”
Brannigan pushed his face into Andy’s and grabbed him by the lapels. “I’m going to say this once more for the final time – I did not find Mark on Friday night and I did NOT attack him. You got that?”
Andy flinched. He knew he’d pushed as much as he could. And to be honest, he’d started to believe him. But at the back of his mind was what had happened in the toilets that night just a week ago. And then there was his threat.
“And you just remember whose DNA and prints would have been found in that toilet block.” Brannigan slowly released his grip. “Now when you hear from Felicity, you be sure to call me. Okay?” He tapped Andy’s cheek, a bit harder than he needed to. He stared at him for a second, the smile he had on his face false, walked past him and out into the hallway.
Andy heard the front door close then let out the breath he’d been holding.
38
Wednesday 20th February 2002
The knock on his office door made Strong look up from the file he was studying at his desk. Through the glass panel he could see Doug Norris, the SOCO standing, holding some folders in his hand. He waved him in. “Hello, Doug, how’s things?” he greeted.
“That shirt you sent me …”
“Yeah, what news?”
“Well, I concentrated on the collar and cuffs. If you remember that’s where I said the usual wearer would leave the most trace.”
“And?”
“They don’t match.”
“What do you mean, they don’t match?”
“The DNA from the shirt doesn’t match the sample from the Claire Hobson evidence. So it’s not a match for the rookie PC you thought. You can see here …” Norris pulled out three sheets of paper from one of the files he’d brought with him. “This is the DNA profile of the perpetrator.” He pointed to the first sheet. “And this is PC Gary Monk’s. You can see the matches. But this …” he said, pointing to the third sheet, “is from the shirt. No similarity at all.”
Strong studied what Norris had presented then looked up at him, nodding. “So what’s in the other file?” he asked, knowing full well he’d made another discovery.
“Ah. That’s where things get really interesting.” A self-satisfied smile appeared on Norris’ face as he pulled two sheets from the second file he’d brought. “This,” he said, pointing to the first, “is the DNA profile obtained from material we recovered from under the finger nails of Weaver’s hand. The right, if you recall?”
Strong nodded.
Referring to the second sheet, he went on, “And here is the profile we have on file for Claire Hobson.”
Strong looked surprised and leaned forward to look closely at what had been presented. “You mean actually Claire Hobson? Not the perpetrator?”
“That’s right.” Norris stood back. “Thought that would interest you. We have a number of similarities, as you can see.”
“Hells bells, Doug, does that mean a sister?” Strong asked, already suspecting the answer.
“Whoever Weaver touched before he died was directly related to Claire Hobson.”
“And I know who that is,” he said, standing up. “I interviewed her yesterday.”
Once Norris had left, Strong walked into the CID office and spotted Stainmore sitting at her desk. “Kelly,” he called. “Can I have a word?”
She stood and approached him. “Trevor’s come back with something interesting from talking to some of Mark Thompson’s neighbours, guv. A description of a young woman seen leaving with him on Thursday night.”
“That’s good,” he said before lowering his voice. “Doug’s just brought Mr Monk’s shirt back.”
“And?”
“He’s not Gary’s dad, or our perpetrator. So I’d like you to come with me when I take it back. In the meantime, this is all confidential.”
“Of course,” she said, indignantly.
“Sorry, Kelly. I didn’t mean … anyway, Char
lotte Watkins … have you taken her statement yet?”
“Seeing her at one today,” she answered.
“Hmm.” He looked to the ceiling for a moment.
“Something wrong?”
“No that’s fine.” He saw no gain in telling her what he knew about her true identity. Well, not yet anyway. “I’d best see Flynn,” he concluded.
“Oh, meant to ask,” she said, as he began to walk away. “It was Laura’s interview yesterday, wasn’t it?”
His face broke into a big smile. “She got it.”
* * *
Sammy walked into the kitchen area on her floor of the office building where she worked. Alison was already there pouring herself a glass of water, tablets in a bubble pack lying on the work surface.
“Everything okay, Alison?” She approached her friend.
“Oh, hi Sammy,” she answered. “I’m alright. Just a bit of a headache that’s all.”
Alison popped a couple of pills from the pack, put them in her mouth and took a gulp of some water. She screwed up her face as she swallowed them.
Sammy studied her closely. “But you’re not, though, are you?”
Tears began to well in Alison’s eyes. “Not really,” she said. “I’ve had a hell of a headache since I woke up. And …” Two tears ran down her cheeks. “I’ve not felt the baby move today.”
“Here, sit down.” Sammy guided her to a chair. “If you’re worried, we can go to the LGI and get checked out.” It was true, the Leeds General Infirmary was a short walk away and they had a Maternity Unit on site.
“I don’t know, Sammy. I don’t want to fuss.” Twisting her wedding ring, she looked down at her feet. “But look at this … my hands have swollen up and my feet …I’ve got cankles now.”
Sammy followed her gaze then cracked into a smile. “I love that word,” she said. “Look, I’ll get your coat and we can take a steady walk down there.”
When they arrived at the Maternity Unit, they were met by a midwife at the Nurse Station who was filling in forms and engaged in conversation with an Indian man whose badge announced he was an obstetrician.
