Tainted: A DI Colin Strong Investigation (The Wakefield Series Book 4)

by David Evans

The doctor walked away and finally, the midwife turned her attention to the new arrivals. “Can I help you, love?” she asked.

  Alison explained her symptoms.

  “If you want to come with me, we can have a look at you,” the midwife said, leading her into an examination room.

  Alison insisted Sammy came with them.

  After taking Alison’s blood pressure and some personal details, the midwife walked to the door. “I’ll just get a colleague to examine you, Alison,” she said.

  “Is everything okay?” Sammy asked.

  “Just want to have our senior midwife have a look at you.”

  An older midwife in a different coloured uniform and a badge with the name of Debbie came in. She asked Sammy to leave them for a minute whilst she examined Alison. After a few minutes, Sammy was asked to re-join them.

  “I’ve just been explaining to your friend that she’s suffering from a condition known as pre-eclampsia. It’s quite common in mothers to be,” the midwife said.

  “Will she be able to come home?” Sammy asked.

  “Oh no, sweetheart,” she said. “We’d like to keep Mrs Souter in.” She glanced down at Alison who was lying fully clothed on the bed. “Because of her age, and she’s a primip, we need to monitor her blood pressure and start medication.” She caught Sammy’s puzzled expression. “Sorry, primip just means this is her first baby.” Turning back to Alison, she patted her hand. “Now don’t worry sweetheart, I’ll arrange for a bed for you.”

  When she’d gone, Sammy sat on the chair by the side of the bed, concern etched on her face. “I’ve heard of that pre-eclampsia thing,” she said.

  Alison had her head back on the pillows. “High blood pressure, ha!” She began to chuckle. “Her calling me ‘sweetheart’ every few seconds isn’t helping.”

  * * *

  Souter had tried to speak to Michael Hobson, Claire’s father, but he was given short shrift. The man didn’t see the point of all this media activity; he just wanted to be left with his own thoughts. But Souter had spoken to Louise Hobson the day before and been given Claire’s brother, Martin’s telephone number. He’d just made that call and spoken to him in London and was reading through the notes he’d made. Martin was surprisingly open in his thoughts about how the murder of his younger sister had affected the family and how he still thought of her every day. He was pleased that Souter was planning to bring the unsolved murder back into the public eye and hoped that it would tease that one vital piece of information to the surface to unlock the mystery of who was responsible for what had happened to Claire. The next call he planned to make was to his sister, Charlotte.

  About to pick up the phone again to call Charlotte’s number, his mobile rang.

  “Bob, I’m with Alison,” Sammy’s voice announced. “Where are you?”

  “In the office. Why? Is everything okay?”

  “We’re at the hospital. The LGI. Nothing to worry about but you might want to come over. We’re in Maternity.”

  “She’s not … It’s not coming is it?”

  “Not as far as I know but she wants to see you.”

  “She hasn’t lost the baby? Surely not.”

  “No, Bob. Stop panicking. Just get your backside over here.”

  He ended the call and jumped from his chair.

  “Where are you off to in such a hurry,” Janey Clarke shouted at him. “Something breaking?”

  “I hope not, Janey,” he said, shuffling into his coat. “Alison’s in the hospital.”

  “That’s early, isn’t it?”

  “Got to go.” Souter strode to the stairs. “Tell Chandler.” And was gone.

  39

  Detective Chief Superintendent Flynn listened intently as Strong brought him up to speed with what he’d learned regarding Gary Monk’s DNA familial match.

  “Christ,” he said. “This isn’t going to be easy. Did Mrs Monk give you any clue as to whether she was aware of this?”

  “No sir. From what I could tell, she adored her husband.”

  Flynn sighed, stood up and looked out of the window for a second.

  “This is going to be worse than an agony visit,” he said quietly, referring to the occasions when officers must visit relatives of the deceased to break the bad news.

  He turned back to face Strong, thrusting his hands in his pockets. “I’m assuming you’ll take Kelly with you again?”

  “Of course. She’s ideal.”

  “How’s she fairing after all she’s been through?”

  “She’s fine, sir. We had a chat about what happened and she seems to have moved on quite well.”

  “She certainly looks healthier,” Flynn said, resuming his seat. He studied his desk and Strong had the distinct impression he wanted to talk about something else.

  “Is everything okay?” Strong asked.

  Flynn rubbed the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. “This is a bit delicate, Colin,” he said.

  Strong smiled ironically. “Last time you said that, you landed me with the Gary Monk situation.”

  The DCS paused a beat. “It’s about Rupert,” he finally said. DCI Hemingford; Strong knew something wasn’t quite right but he offered no response, only let the silence hang in the air between them.

  “He’ll be moving on,” Flynn declared. “But this is strictly confidential. I’m telling you because I think you deserve to hear it from me first.”

  Strong sat back in the chair. “I did wonder … He hasn’t been fully … focused, if I can say that.”

  Flynn nodded. “It’ll be announced at the end of the month officially. He’ll be joining a new unit being set up in Greater Manchester.”

  “Explains a lot, including the trips over there.”

  Flynn looked at Strong, a grave expression on his face. “What I’d like to do, Colin, is talk about what happens next.”

  “No,” Strong said instantly. “I’m not going through all that again.”

  “It’ll be different this time.”

  “How?” Strong’s hands gripped the arms of the chair but he took a breath before going on, “You’ll have me do the job then bring someone else in, just like you did with Hemingford.”

  “I can’t say just yet, but trust me.” Flynn responded. “You have some friends in higher places this time.”

  Strong gave a snort. “Yeah, right.”

  Flynn held out both hands. “Look, don’t say anything for now. Nothing will happen for a week or so. Just think about your situation.”

  “I am.”

  “I understand your reaction, Colin. But …” Flynn paused, shook his head and decided to move on. “So when do you plan to speak to Mrs Monk?”

  Strong got to his feet, sensing the meeting was drawing to a close. “I’ll check young Gary’s duty rota. We need to go when he’s not around. Tomorrow, hopefully.”

  “Okay, thanks.” Flynn held out a hand. “And we’ll talk again.”

  Strong looked at the offered hand then shook it. “Sir,” he said then made his way out.

  Strong finished reading through the statement Stainmore had obtained from Charlotte Watkins. There was nothing new from what he’d been told the day before. She was sitting opposite him in his office, door closed.

  “Nothing much to help us there, guv, as you said,” Stainmore reported.

  “What did you make of her?”

  “Nervous, as you’d expect. She was desperate that her husband didn’t find out.”

  “Was that all it was?”

  She frowned. “Is there something else I don’t know about?”

  Strong looked back down at the statement, avoiding Stainmore’s gaze.

  “You were a bit obtuse when we spoke about it earlier,” she said. “There is something, isn’t there?”

  “In strictest confidence, Kelly …”

  She leaned forward. “I’m listening.”

  “Charlotte is Claire Hobson’s younger sister.”

  “Bloody Hell,” Stainmore said softly
. “So now she’s had two major traumas in her life. And she could do with the third, like her husband finding out, like a hole in the head.”

  “Exactly.”

  A knock on the door broke into their conversation. Strong saw DC Newell standing outside.

  “That’s just between you and me for now, Kelly,” Strong said, then raised his voice. “Come!”

  The door opened. “Sorry to interrupt guv, sarge,” Newell said, looking from Strong to Stainmore and back. “I’ve got a couple of things that you might want to hear.”

  “Sit down, Trevor,” Strong said, indicating the seat next to Stainmore.

  He did as asked and began to speak. “When I was trying to get some information from Mark Thompson’s neighbours, I spoke to an old girl in the next door flat. She’d told me that she’d seen Thompson and an attractive looking girl get out of his car on Tuesday afternoon, that’s Tuesday 12th. She next saw them leaving at around half past eight on the Thursday night, the 14th. At the time I first spoke to her, she said she thought this girl, well young woman really, was familiar to her but she couldn’t remember where.”

  “Did she give you a description?” Strong asked.

  “Yes. But she’s just rung me this afternoon. She told her daughter this story and when she began to describe the woman, the daughter prompted her. Apparently, this woman works as a hairdresser in a salon in the Bullring. The daughter gets her hair done there regularly, not with this woman, with somebody else and sometimes, her mother goes with her and that’s why she’d seemed familiar.”

  “And?” Strong prompted, grateful for the detail but hoping the young lad would get to the point.

  “That’s all I know at the moment but I was planning on paying the salon a visit.”

  Strong nodded. “Good idea. Let me know how you go on.”

  Trevor moved to stand up.

  “Was there something else?” Strong asked. “You said there were a couple of things.”

  He sat back down. “Oh yes.” He looked to Stainmore. “You asked me to go down to Agbrigg Road and see what CCTV was available.”

  “Got something?” Stainmore said.

  “Sam’s running through it now but I think so. A couple of likely suspects further along the road from the off-licence at around the time Thompson’s card was used.”

  “Good lad,” Strong said.

  40

  “Bob must be worried sick,” Susan said.

  The women were sitting on the sofa of the flat they shared, eating meals from trays on their laps.

  “He’s with her now. She’s been admitted. They want to keep a close eye on her.” Sammy said, shovelling a forkful of risotto into her mouth. She had texted Susan earlier in the afternoon to tell her about Alison being kept in hospital.

  Susan put her fork down, a concerned expression on her face. “You know his history? With his son, Adam?”

  “Tragic. But this will be okay, won’t it?” Sammy was looking for some sign from her friend. Susan had experienced feelings before; not premonitions as such but something she couldn’t really explain. She remembered when she had reassured them that Alison was safe last year when Bob had thought all was lost.

  “I haven’t had any dark thoughts, Sammy, if that’s what you’re asking?”

  “Good.” Sammy resumed eating.

  “But I don’t think he’ll be too interested in this Claire Hobson story we’re working on,” Susan said. “You didn’t mention anything to Alison about what we found out about Charlotte, did you?”

  “No, of course not.” Sammy looked closely at her friend. “But you want to push on with this story on your own, don’t you?”

  Susan grinned. “Well, you managed to get contact information on Kenny Green. All I did was call him and arrange a meet for me and Bob, so it would be a shame to waste it.”

  Sammy placed her knife and fork together on her plate and sat back. “What are you thinking?”

  “You could come along instead? I wouldn’t want to see him on my own, just in case … well, you know.”

  “When are you meeting?”

  “Tomorrow night. Half seven in some pub called The Shepherds Arms on Cluntergate in Horbury.”

  Sammy chuckled. “Careful how you say that address.”

  Susan punched her friend’s arm. “Cheeky mare,” she said.

  Sammy’s expression grew serious. “Have you mentioned to Bob the connection with Charlotte?”

  Susan leaned back on the settee. “No, I haven’t had a chance.”

  “And you’re in no rush to.”

  “As I said, I think he’s got other priorities at the moment.”

  Sammy picked up Susan’s tray, along with her own, and carried them through to the small kitchen the flat offered. “Are we going in to see Alison?” she asked over her shoulder.

  “I think we should, don’t you?” Susan stood up and walked to the kitchen door. “Leave them for now. Do you know if visiting’s the same time as it was on Orthopaedics?” Susan referred to the time she spent in LGI some eighteen months ago.

  “I think so.”

  Half an hour later, Sammy and Susan were walking down the corridor towards the Maternity Unit, a bunch of flowers and a box of chocolates between them, when Souter emerged.

  “How is she, Bob?” Susan asked.

  “Can we see her?” Sammy added.

  He smiled. “Hello, you two. She’s fine, just resting. I’ve only come out for a bit of air while they examine her again.” He looked at the flowers. “She’ll love those. Shall we get a coffee or something, then we can go back in?”

  They settled on a nearby pub, the hospital cafeteria already closed. Souter returned to the table with three soft drinks – he didn’t fancy a pint and the girls thought it best not to see Alison with alcohol on their breaths. Souter involuntarily patted his coat pockets before sipping his Diet Coke.

  Sammy noticed. “How long now, Bob?”

  He laughed. “The one time I need a cigarette and I can’t. Nearly five months,” he said. “I promised myself after I found out Alison was safe, I’d give up. Colin’s done it as well, you know.”

  “I don’t ever remember Colin smoking,” Sammy said.

  “I think he’d given up just before you met. He still has a packet of cigars in his inside jacket pocket. If he feels he needs one, he just gives it a reassuring pat.”

  “So what’s our next move on the Claire Hobson story?” Susan asked.

  “Our next move? I thought you’d have some Uni work to be getting on with.”

  “It is part of it.” Susan was aware of Sammy’s eyes on her.

  “Well, for the moment, I’m putting it on the back burner. I’ve got more important things to worry about.”

  “What about the Thompson murder? Any developments on that?”

  “Look, Susan, I’m not being funny, but I’m not bothered about any of that. I just want to see that little bundle delivered safely and Alison back to full health.”

  Sammy nudged Susan’s leg under the table in a sign that meant enough was enough. “So shall we go back and see the mum-to-be then?” she said, draining her glass.

  The friends got up and made their way from the pub to the Maternity Unit.

  41

  Thursday 21st February 2002

  Hemingford had conducted the briefing that morning. Strong felt he looked ill at ease. Flynn had probably told him that he’d broken the news of his impending departure to Strong. Again, the team felt it was a rushed affair, so Strong picked up a few of the main points once Hemingford had left.

  The two youths suspected of using Mark Thompson’s card in the Agbrigg Road off-licence had been picked up by CCTV further down the road both before and after the time the card was used. The images weren’t clear enough to identify faces. They’d even appeared to have turned their jackets inside out in an attempt to confuse identity, the jackets light coloured as opposed to the dark ones worn in the shop. But the team was sure they were the same two who had committe
d the fraud.

  “I think they’re local to that area,” Strong said. “Let’s see if uniform have an idea who they are.”

  Luke Ormerod reported that, according to a DVLA check, Brannigan owned a BMW 5 series saloon, Mediterranean Blue.

  “Interesting,” Strong thought aloud. “I think we’ll pay our scrap dealer another visit, Luke. But first I need to check something else.”

  With that comment, the meeting drew to a close and Strong sought out Gary Monk’s sergeant, who confirmed that he was on a late shift starting at two that afternoon.

  “Perfect, “Strong said to himself and went back upstairs to the CID room to speak to Ormerod.

  Brannigan’s scrap yard was quiet when Strong drew to a halt outside.

  “Does he ever do any business?” Ormerod wondered as they stepped from the car.

  “Where there’s muck there’s brass,” Strong quoted.

  This time, the frost had gone and they stepped around the puddles and mud toward the green office. They opened the door and caught the swift movement of a youth sitting behind a desk. He relaxed when he saw them and pulled an electronic gaming device from under the pile of paper on the desk. It beeped.

  Strong smiled at the young lad. “Think it was the boss?”

  He looked to be around sixteen with a sullen expression. “I’m only keeping an eye on things for him,” he said.

  “Is Mr Brannigan around?” Ormerod asked.

  “I think he said he was going to an auction in Halifax.” The lad relaxed and resumed his game. “Don’t know when he’ll be back.”

  Strong glanced at his watch. An auction would most likely start around ten o’clock and it was nearly half past now. He wouldn’t imagine Brannigan would return before mid-afternoon. “He’ll have gone off in the Beamer, then?” Strong said.

  The youth looked up from the screen. “Yeah. It’s lovely. Have you seen it?”

  A chord struck, Strong thought. “Five series, yes?”

  “540i, yeah.” Enthusiasm spread all over the boy’s face. “4.4 litre V8 engine and goes like sh… well, goes like the clappers. He showed me the engine once.”

  “You like cars then?” Ormerod asked.